


Astoria Greengrass and the Muggle-Born Slytherin

by PerfidiouslySnatching



Series: Astoria of Slytherin [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Humor, Astronomy, Beauxbatons, Best Friends, Bigotry & Prejudice, Book 4: Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Class Differences, Class Issues, Crushes, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Drama, F/M, Family History, First Meetings, French heritage, Good Slytherins, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Moodypocalypse, Muggle-born Pride, Muggle-born Slytherin, Music, Protective Parents, Scars, Slow Burn, Triwizard Tournament, Yule Ball (Harry Potter), enemies to frenemies, long-term effects of Chamber of Secrets events, shows Fake Moody aftermath, tfw ur current favourite teacher is a death eater and your heart breaks into little teeny pieces, the aforementioned major character death is in the canon (no surprises)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2020-09-23 13:29:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 78,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20340886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PerfidiouslySnatching/pseuds/PerfidiouslySnatching
Summary: Astoria was doodling constellations on a piece of parchment when Malfoy so politely kicked her chair. She slowly looked over her shoulder, trying to keep herself from saying something nasty to him.--The year is 1994, and the Triwizard Tournament is coming to Hogwarts the same year as Astoria Greengrass. She might have lucked out and tested into her year, but she has as much trouble keeping up with her marks as she does with Draco Malfoy's unending comments.Astoria comes across a bit too formal and nerdy and has trouble making large groups of friends. Yet she quickly befriends Rhiannon Clarke, the only Muggle-born Slytherin on the record. The two might be coming from completely different backgrounds, but they're as inseparable as can be. It would help, though, if Draco didn't treat Rhiannon like some sort of public hazard. It wasn't like You-Know-Who was around, right?*First in series.Seriesupdate schedule:Saturdays





	1. Ascribed Statuses

**Author's Note:**

> Each chapter will come with a musical rec, and my [playlist (link)](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLkbEwOpb9udL8NQSwPCtzW_HAw_KqsKFy) will update along with the chapters.
> 
> Prologue - "Fellow in the North" by Cold Weather Company  
Chapter One - "Just A Girl" by No Doubt
> 
> I tried to stay close to the Books 1-7 canon. Perhaps a "canon companion" more so than "canon compliant."

**Prologue**

During the dreadful reign of Muggle King Charles I, a warlock named Quennell established what is today one of the greatest Wizarding families in England. Though not as ancient as several other Wizarding families, Quennell’s clan has best endured. After three centuries, his descendants became known as one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight pure-blood Wizarding families –– the Greengrasses.

The Greengrasses have their own family legend about their ancestor. It recalls that Quennell had once saved the forest in which he had built his humble home from the fires of a great dragon. As recompense for his struggle, a dryad of the forest promised that all members in his family would have at least two descendants so long as each couple marry on the Vernal Equinox, a time of affluence, fertility, and renewal. Quennell himself married on that day, as did his children and their children, and so forth. In his old age, he built something of a palace in his blessed forest with all of the wealth that the large family continued to acquire. The eccentric legend has become something of a family joke; the auspicious wedding date might been proven false at some point, yet the problem remains that no one ever remembers exactly how or when. Manifestly, the Greengrasses who marry on the Vernal Equinox do seem to have at least two children, and thus the tradition stands. For the sake of convenience and keeping in touch, the Greengrasses hold a magnificent celebration every March in Quennell Park in East Sussex. During this week-long celebration surrounding the Equinox, couples are wed, family records are written, banquets, balls, and games take place. Indeed, the family sees no end of their lineage in the farthest sight.

Similarly prominent families established as early as the tenth century have greatly declined over the ages, for as they tried to keep their bloodlines “intact” by marrying similarly old families, they have consequently left only a few families unrelated. Blood supremacism led to a refusal to marry not only non-pure-bloods, but also any member of a family which contains a member who did so. This was the downfall of these ancient families. The case was different with the Greengrasses, who were wont to marry members of other Wizarding families that were considered “blood traitors.” As a result, the Greengrasses were shunned from the rest of the Wizarding families for much of history until the last century when they became desirous. After all, they still remain wealthy pure-bloods with no history of inbreeding.

However, the Greengrasses refused to wed with these witches and wizards who held blood status in higher regards than they did love. They continued as they had all along, marrying blood-traitor families and gaining more and more prominence as their number increased. With the decline of the notorious Black family near the turn of the twentieth century, it became evident that the Wizarding families could no longer shun the Greengrasses as they had done historically. It was said that “A Greengrass is a special sort of weed and spreads as such,” and it was unwise to be their enemies.

To compare the families, the legacies of Renfrew Greengrass and Cygnus Black show a most dramatic difference. Renfrew Greengrass IX (b. 1924) married Meira Mosby in 1949 at the age of twenty-five, whilst Cygnus Black III (b. 1938) was forced to marry Druella Rosier, a rare unrelated pure-blood from France, in 1951 at the age of thirteen. To Renfrew IX and Meira Greengrass were born Thalie, Faunus IX, Adam XIV, and Laureline. To Cygnus III and Druella Black were born Bellatrix, Andromeda, and Narcissa.

In the late sixties, whilst his family was on holiday, young Adam Greengrass met and fell in love with Estelle Ciel, one of five children of yet another prominent family. Estelle, who was very much in love with Adam as well, came to stay in England in the spring of 1968. At the Greengrasses’ famous Vernal Equinox celebration, sisters Andromeda and Narcissa Black met Estelle and found she spoke no English. Being bilingual, they taught her English when she returned that summer and in the summer of the following year.

The friendships did not last long. Andromeda was disowned by the Black family in 1970 for marrying a Muggle-born wizard, and war broke out that same year. Estelle left for France, whilst Adam and his immediate family remained in England. The war, later known as the First Wizarding War, had an “eye of the storm” moment in the mid-1970s in which the situation calmed briefly before the worst would arrive. During this time, many couples wed –– some believed that getting married would be the last thing they would do, and some were right. Narcissa Black wed Lucius Malfoy II. Estelle returned to marry Adam on the moment of the Equinox: 20 March 1976, at 11:50 A.M. precisely.

Only three years later, the Greengrasses received a distressed letter from an unexpected writer. Narcissa Malfoy warned the couple that they must leave the country if they did not intend on following the rising Dark wizard Lord Voldemort, for he was beginning to massacre those in opposition to him. Stricken with fear, Adam and Estelle, who were expecting a child, fled to France to stay with Estelle’s family. The couple’s first daughter, Daphne Alecia, was born on 12 August 1980. After the fall of Voldemort in 1981, the large group of Greengrasses who had fled the country began to return to England. Adam and Estelle returned in time to have their second daughter, Astoria Nesrine, who was born on 16 January 1982. The two girls would later attend school with Narcissa and Lucius’s only child, Draco.

Thus, the two families have begun a new chapter.

**Chapter One**

**Ascribed Statuses**

Adam Greengrass had his work cut out for him. With hands all too grizzled for a man of his status, he pushed aside a stack of children’s textbooks and lit his pipe. Just a few moments for himself. He wondered if his wife, Estelle, had allowed herself to take breaks like this over the past year of home-schooling their younger daughter. Surely she had –– she was in charge of more subjects than he was. Estelle was accustomed to the chore, though, having been a volunteer tutor for children in St Mungo’s for eight years. Adam’s passion, however, was working for the Committee on Experimental Charms. It was not out of necessity that he worked.

In his youth, Adam had basked in the spotlight placed on the Greengrass family. He always did his best in school so that his parents would talk about him at social gatherings. He had loved impressing the adults. He had loved how people had nothing better to do than to read about what was happening in the great Greengrass house. Witches wanted to dress like his mother. Wizards tried to buy the same brands as his father. What broomsticks are those Greengrass children using? Perhaps they could stain the woods on their own children’s broom handles to match those of the Greengrass kids’…

Then the war came, and the family scattered across the continent. When they all came back to England, the public’s attention was mostly held by gossip rather than respect. Laureline Greengrass married Salomon Kippling, a Squib. Adam’s first daughter, Daphne, was not born a British citizen. Those Greengrasses were coming out of the war so safe and sound when the rest of the community went through the worst! And why hadn’t Adam’s younger daughter, Astoria, gone to school? Could she be yet another Squib in the Greengrass lineage?

For as much hilarity it provided bored empty-nesters, having Astoria at home was often more trouble than it was worth. The girl badly wanted to go to school, and every time Adam or Estelle had to explain to her that she truly wasn’t ready, it only hurt her more. Astoria had been the classic late-bloomer in witchcraft: as a baby, she showed no signs of magic, but once it became apparent she was not a Squib, it also became apparent that she could not channel her magic well. When she was eleven, the family was in Ollivander’s for nearly an hour while the old fellow tried to convince them that a completely incompatible wand had chosen her. Silver lime! The nerve of that man. He must have been trying to sell them the most expensive wand in the shop with no consideration of Astoria’s needs. She ended up with a beautiful cherry wand instead; although, the truth was the wand didn’t matter. It seemed to take her twice the time to cast a spell as her peers regardless of what she held in her hand.

Sometimes, Astoria would cast a different spell than what she intended. Adam tended to act as a guard during tutoring, keeping his wand drawn if Astoria should cast a spell that went out of control. Astoria soon developed a pathological need to prove herself to her parents that burned more furiously each time Daphne returned home from Hogwarts with mediocre marks in her classes. Astoria viewed herself as the smarter sister who was kept from school due to concerns about her safety. Adam and Estelle could not emphasise enough to her that problem was not her weakness but instead her _unpredictability_.

Astoria overtaxed herself at home. She began to turn even her hobbies in astronomy and music into work relevant to school. Adam tried to cover as much material as Astoria could consume, since she was constantly haunted by how long it took her to cast spells. She might as well have been at Hogwarts all this time for as little as Adam and Estelle saw her outside of lessons. Astoria needed socialised in a way that life at the isolated Quennell Park could not provide her. Adam knew that Astoria did not belong at home throughout her years of schooling. Daphne considered it playing favouritism, and Astoria believed it unfair.

Adam found his fingers on the edges of _The Standard Book of Spells_, _Grade 3_. It was the middle of August, and he had yet to create a lesson plan for his daughter. He wished she knew how proud he was of her all along, but she only seemed to accept herself if she was “ahead.” Adam set the book aside. Books always seemed to distance his relationship with her. Perhaps he could teach her something useful, just one more time, before he told his wife what they needed to do.

~

It was four months before Astoria’s thirteenth birthday, but she didn’t feel very grown up. She was only just now going to Hogwarts, something her sister did as soon as she had turned eleven. Astoria stared at her three suitcases blankly, not knowing what was ahead of her, only knowing that she wanted it.

“Do you really need three suitcases, Astoria?” asked Daphne. Blonde curls, bright blue eyes, and smooth skin were hard porcelain on Daphne when they were soft features on their mother.

“If I remember correctly, you brought _five_ to Hogwarts in your first year,” Astoria said, poking Daphne’s arm.

“I didn’t want to be ill-prepared. I bet two of those suitcases are for your hair products alone,” mocked Daphne.

“No, just one,” said Astoria, not catching the insult. She did have a lot of hair after all. It was a dark brunette hue and naturally wavy, but not the “correct” sort of wavy by any means. Usually, she liked to wear tame her hair into ringlets or her own version of a pouf. Daphne had a tendency to tease Astoria about her old-fashioned hairstyles, but Astoria thought they looked cute. She was more self-conscious about having the earthy features of her father, with green eyes, thick eyebrows, and an uneven complexion. All of this was considered quite pretty by her family, but being nearly thirteen made it hard to see what they saw.

Daphne was reading the report on Astoria’s exam results, which Astoria had received the previous week. Her father had procured both the first-year and second-year exams so that she may receive credit for all of the work she had done. Astoria had tried to approach it positively, but two exams for almost every subject had been more daunting than she had anticipated. Although she would be permitted to enter as a third-year, her barely average mark in second-year Transfiguration loomed over her. The thought of going in a year ahead was scary when she had never officially “gone” to school in the first place.

“I’m going to laugh when you get retained in Transfiguration after being accelerated,” Daphne said, scanning her sister’s results. “So, what is this ‘extra credit’ on your Astronomy mark?”

“The astronomy professor wrote a letter to Maman and Father saying that I exceeded the expectations on the second-year exam. I had completed the celestial map they gave me, so she said I would be much farther ahead in class. I filled it out to help myself remember the constellations and deep-sky objects we needed to know on the test, so it took me longer, but I guess it paid off! The image was in my mind, so I just put––”

“That’s nice,” said Daphne, a bit annoyed. “You’ll be a good student then.”

“Maman and Father are excellent teachers,” said Astoria.

On the first of September, Daphne and Astoria boarded the Hogwarts Express at King’s Cross Station after hugging their parents goodbye for what seemed like an hour. Astoria was so excited that she had to force herself not to skip along the train platform as she went to board the train. Daphne went to sit with her fourth-year friends, so Astoria sat next to an unthreatening-looking girl who was clutching a book and sitting alone. She seemed like a much better pick than the flock of girls who were making fun of the people hugging their family goodbye on the platform.

“Hello,” Astoria said.

“Oh, erm, hello.” said the girl in a distinctly Cockney accent.

She made room for Astoria to sit next to her, but did not make eye contact. Astoria saw that the girl’s plump face was red and that her eyes were moist.

“Are you okay?” Astoria asked, since it was the polite thing to do.

Astoria didn’t expect the first person she met to be crying. She was almost angry with the girl for ruining _her_ good mood.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” The girl tilted her head to the group of girls sitting across from them. They had turned their attention away from the window to snigger and point at her.

“They wrote on me textbook,” she said.

She showed Astoria her copy of _A History of Magic_. Scribbled on the front of the book was the word “Mudblood.” Astoria stared at the word for a moment. She did not know how to respond.

“It’s not like it’s the first time I been called that — I just never had it written before, y’know? You get used to it after a while, but… wait, what’s wrong with _you_?”

The girl defensively scooted away from Astoria, who was making a very stunned face.

“Oh, that’s okay. I ––” Astoria stuttered.

Astoria had never actually spoken with a Muggle-born before. Her family was not prejudiced of Muggle-borns, but Astoria had never encountered one. As a result, she was lacking in cultural understanding. What was she supposed to say in the face of such a slur? Was it best to just listen to what the girl said? Astoria knew that her sister was not too fond of Muggle-borns, but Daphne never seemed to have any decent reason. Their parents had always taught them that Muggle-borns are equally apt at magic as anyone born into a Wizarding family, and that distinctions like that should never be made when meeting new friends.

“My name is Astoria Gr––” She stopped herself from saying her family name. The girl might not feel comfortable with Astoria if she knew she was a pure-blood.

“My name is Astoria.”

The red-faced girl put the textbook face down, trying to forget about it.

“My name’s Rhiannon Clarke. I’m a third-year,” she said, pushing her strawberry-blonde fringe out of her eyes. Her tears became much more noticeable.

“Me too,” said Astoria. “I was home-schooled for a year, but it counted as two I guess.”

“That’s pretty neat,” said Rhiannon. “I obviously couldn’t be home-schooled.”

She made a face at her textbook, as though it had called her the name itself.

“It’s not that fun. I was with my parents all day, every day! And yet they complained I never spent time with them.”

“Wonder what that’s like,” mumbled the girl.

Astoria, though still uncertain about conversing with a Muggle-born for fear that she would say the wrong thing, was pleased with herself for meeting a friend, or at least someone to talk to on the train. Rhiannon was telling Astoria about what her second year at Hogwarts was like when Daphne magically appeared next to their seat. Actually, she didn’t use magic, for she could not legally use Apparition until turning seventeen and getting a licence. Daphne was just really good at sneaking up on people.

“Sis, why…?” she said, making a concerned face.

“This is Rhiannon, Daphne,” Astoria said.

“_Daphne_’_s_ your blister‽” Rhiannon exclaimed.

“My––?”

“Your sister! _She_’_s _your sister?”

Astoria knew this was not going to go well. Had Daphne bullied Rhiannon? Astoria knew that her sister could be something of a –– well, sometimes Daphne was just a mean person. But to Astoria’s surprise, Rhiannon acted quite happy.

“To think, _Daphne Greengrass_’_s_ sister treated me like a human being!” she smirked.

Daphne’s eyes were like broken crystal, and her composure disappeared. Students Astoria had not even met were already watching her events play out, making assumptions.

“Astoria! What do you think you’re doing talking to a––?”

“I can talk to whomever I want,” Astoria said firmly. “I’m so sorry, Rhiannon.”

“’S’all right.”

Daphne shook her head. “Come on, Astoria, I want you to meet the girls in my dorm.”

Astoria had never been one to listen to her older sister, but for some reason Rhiannon nodded her along. Maybe there was something Rhiannon wanted Astoria to know about Daphne’s roommates. It might give Astoria a clue as to why Daphne was acting so, well… racist.

As the sisters were shuffling their way past the kids who put their feet in the walkway, Daphne hissed furiously, “Why would you talk to a Mudblood?”

“I didn’t know she was a Muggle-born when I sat down,” Astoria said.

“Oh,” Daphne chirped, somehow expecting a kindred spirit out of her baby sister.

“Do you know why I didn’t know?” Astoria continued.

“…What? Huh?”

“I didn’t know because it makes no difference,” Astoria said, frustrated.

“Of course it makes a difference!” Daphne convinced herself.

“Rhiannon uses magic like anybody else does, Daphne! And Muggles aren’t stupid. They went into outer space without our help! Maman and Father would be awfully disappointed with you for associating the family name with prejudice.”

“They aren’t here, are they?” snorted Daphne.

Astoria knew better than to reason with her sister any more. Being in Slytherin must have changed her feeble attitudes. Astoria might not have been comfortable with talking to Rhiannon out of fear of a misunderstanding, but Daphne was completely misguided. She was not coming from a good place in her heart, if there was one left.

“I’ll never know how that girl got into Slytherin,” Daphne complained in a manner that sounded like she was rehearsing a line from a play.

“She’s in Slytherin?” asked Astoria. She knew that Slytherins were mostly pure-bloods, or at least half-bloods. In fact, she learned from her father that until the 1920s, _all_ Slytherins were pure-bloods. At the present, a Muggle-born in Slytherin was like a dementor at a wedding reception to those who believed in blood purity.

“Yes. I think it’s stupid,” grumbled Daphne.

“Well, she must have the traits of a Slytherin student.”

“Yes, but she’s missing a big one, wouldn’t you say?”

“I wouldn’t, actually…”

Daphne turned and gave Astoria a stern look, sat down next to her group, and made a seat for Astoria. Astoria put on her best smiling façade, the kind she used when distant relatives thought she was three or four years younger than she was.

“These are my friends, Tracey and Millicent.”

“Nice to meet you,” Astoria said, shaking their hands.

“This is Sally-Anne, and this is Pansy.”

Astoria shook Sally-Anne’s hand, and assumed that the painful clutch Pansy gave counted as something of a handshake. The girl’s gruff manner had caught Astoria’s attention. She had chin-length brown hair, dark brown eyes, and a sneer across her face. She hadn’t shaken a hand in her life.

“You’re the slow one, right?” Pansy asked Astoria.

_One strike against her_, thought Astoria.

“She can’t help it she was a little sluggish,” said Daphne. “She’s all caught up.”

“Guess she couldn’t help talking to a Mudblood, either,” remarked Pansy. “I saw her.”

_Two strikes against her_, thought Astoria.

Daphne glared at Astoria yet again, embarrassed by her for no good reason.

“So where do you think you’ll get sorted?” asked Pansy.

“I’m not sure. My father was a Ravenclaw,” Astoria said.

“I was thinking you’d be in Hufflepuff!” Pansy laughed derisively.

_Three strikes_. Astoria hated Pansy.

Now, Astoria did not see anything wrong with Hufflepuff, but she knew an insult when she heard one. At least this time she did.

“Hi, Greg, Vince.” said Pansy’s stupid voice in a stupid tone. Four young men entered their compartment. The first two, one very tall and the other very wide, sat down near the group of girls.

“Hello, Blaise. Hello, Draco.” said Pansy’s stupid voice in an even more stupid tone. This pair appeared more gentlemanly.

“You won’t believe the dress robes Weasley’s brought. Go take a look and try not to laugh,” said the blond one to Pansy, who smirked and said, “I can imagine right now.”

“We thought we’d meet your sister,” said the one that Astoria thought was Blaise.

“Oh,” said Daphne with a nervous laugh. She nudged Astoria rather roughly. “This is she.”

Astoria greeted the four wearily. She looked at each member of the group and recited their names in her head. She believed she had them all correct.

_Tracey_: the short girl with a bright smile

_Millicent_: the larger, intimidating one

_Sally-Anne_: the one with freckles and glasses

_Pansy_: that nasty thing sitting across from Daphne

_Greg_: big shoulders, big head

_Vince_: buzz cut, shorter and rounder than Greg

_Blaise_: tall, dark, handsome, but not quite as handsome as…

“Draco.”

“What?” Draco asked.

Astoria realised that she had said his name aloud.

“Erm, nice to meet you.” It was the only thing she could think to say. He gave her a perplexed look and said, “Nice to meet you, too.”

As Astoria went to sit down, she was tripped by Pansy, who laughed in cruel amusement.

“Whoa, Pansy, that’s Daphne’s sister, you know,” chuckled Draco.

Pansy grabbed Draco’s arm. “I just thought I’d have a little fun, Draco,” she whined.

He rolled his cold grey eyes and offered his hand to Astoria, who still was on the floor and grimacing from the pain in her leg. She took his hand and got up in her seat, and though she wanted to hold his hand longer, she thought it would be in her best interest to let go. Astoria couldn’t seem to stop looking at him. He was attractive, and he had at least helped her get up. She would have been more embarrassed if she had tripped over nothing. If Pansy hadn’t tripped her, she wouldn’t have held his hand and––

Draco sat down next to Pansy, who _really_ took his hand.

_Great_, Astoria thought. _That’s the end of that_. She decided to go back to her seat with Rhiannon, but Draco started talking to her.

“So you’re going into your second year?” he asked, unlacing his fingers from Pansy’s, though still permitting her to lean on him.

“No,” Astoria said. “Third year. I was home-schooled.”

“Daphne told me her magic was really slow,” Pansy told Draco on the side.

“Do you think you’ll be in Slytherin?” he continued.

“I’m not really sure,” said Astoria.

Currently her only friend was in that House, but if Astoria was going to receive as much trouble as Rhiannon, was it worth it?

“I think she’ll be in Hufflepuff,” Pansy smirked. “She’s friends with that Clarke girl, you know.”

Draco looked surprised. “Really,” he said slowly. “You’re _friends_ with a Mudblood?”

Astoria was disgusted. She should have known Draco would be exactly like Pansy.

“Yes. Yes, I am,” she said, standing up in front of him.

He huffed, “Why? Hopeless filth –– that’s what they are.”

“F-Filth?” Astoria repeated, dumbfounded that people really talked this way out in the real world. “You’re speaking about another _person_, you know! I bet she’s better at magic than some of the pure-bloods I’ve met.”

She finally pushed past her sister’s crew to sit next to Rhiannon again.

“I met an absolute idiot,” she said in a falsely bright tone to Rhiannon as she struggled to sit down whilst the train turned on the tracks.

“Was he cute?” asked Rhiannon knowingly.

“I –– well, I suppose he was... He had a nasty girlfriend who’s apparently friends with my sister.”

“Pansy and Draco? I mean, you could say he’s somethin’ for the eyes, but he’s rank inside.”

“What bothers me is that he was fairly nice to me before the blood purity thing came up.”

“Funny, I didn’t think he cared about anyone but himself and his daddy.”

Astoria laughed. “His _daddy_? He sounds like my sister.”

“Yeah, Draco’s spoiled rotten. He’s always threatening everyone by saying he’ll tell on us to dear daddy.”

Rhiannon scrunched her face up and mocked Draco, “‘My father can get you kicked out of Slytherin!’”

“What did he say _that_ for?” Astoria asked.

“I kinda put a curse on him when he called me a Mudblood last year,” said Rhiannon shiftily.

“What was the curse?” asked Astoria.

“_Calvorio_,” said Rhiannon, giggling. “Makes your hair fall out. As you saw, it didn’t work. He’s still got his silken streams of platinum blond glory.”

“Oh well,” smiled Astoria. “You probably would be in real trouble if it had worked!”

Once the train stopped to let the students off at Hogsmeade, Astoria remembered that she should be excited about school. She had looked forward to it for so long, but after the train ride, she was not so enthusiastic. Rhiannon was in Slytherin, and Astoria was concerned about what her own House would be. Her mind was wandering away as she stood on a platform near the lake. She could see lightning in the clouds above her, and thunder rumbled in the distance. What a lovely time to be by a large body of water. As third years started getting into the carriages, Astoria heard her name being called from an unwelcome voice. It wasn’t her first name; only a very impatient-sounding “_Greengrass_!”

Pansy and Draco stepped into view. Astoria couldn’t think of any two people she wanted to see less.

“That Hagrid oaf gave me a message to give to you. He couldn’t find you with you being so short. It’s from Dumbledore,” said Pansy, waving a crumpled piece of parchment. She tossed the note upon a breeze to Astoria. “Good news, really,” she said drily.

“You read my letter?” asked Astoria.

She could not think of any good reason why a staff member would hand off a letter to someone like Pansy. Astoria stared her down. Perhaps Pansy had swiped it off of him.

“Got a problem?” threatened Pansy. Astoria ignored her threat and unfolded the letter. It was difficult to read in the soft light from Pansy’s lamp.

_To Astoria Greengrass_

_From Albus Dumbledore_,_ Headmaster_

_Dated the first of September_, _nineteen-hundred and ninety four_

_Student entrance_

_Miss Greengrass,_

_Your home-schooling has placed you in third-year classes for the 1994-1995 school year, with one exception._

Astoria cringed as she expected to be stuck in first-year Transfiguration. She would have to repeat all the work she had done at home, and on top of that, face Pansy. She read on:– 

_You have been placed in fourth-year Astronomy at the request of Professor Aurora Sinistra. This placement will be probationary for your first academic year, as top marks are required to maintain advanced placement. _

_Enter the school with the first_-_year students in order to attend the Sorting Ceremony with them_._ Choose your elective courses _(_two minimum_)_ after the Sorting Ceremony_._ Proceed to your House afterward_.

_Best regards_ _and congratulations_,

_Albus Dumbledore_

_Headmaster_

Astoria was amazed and excited that she would be going into fourth-year Astronomy. She smiled at the thought that she had had two years’ worth of education in one year’s time and still managed. She certainly owed it all to her parents. Of course, she would have been even happier if Pansy wasn’t in view. Even still, Astoria muttered a “thank you” for the letter. Pansy failed to say “you’re welcome,” and left that responsibility to Draco.

“Have fun in Hufflepuff. They’ll find out that watching a Greengrass cast a spell is like watching grass grow!” sneered Pansy as she turned to walk away.

“Have fun being a bitch,” spat Astoria suddenly.

Astoria had never sworn aloud before, as that was mostly Daphne’s inclination, but she didn’t have any time to dwell on it before she realised she was underwater. Pansy had grabbed Astoria’s shoulders with her dreadfully thick hands and had shoved her into the dark, cold waters of the lake. Then again, Astoria didn’t have enough time to swim to the surface by herself before she was pulled out of the water. Pansy was holding one arm and Draco, the other. It wasn’t exactly regret that had overcome Pansy. It was mostly the fear of getting into trouble deeper than the water.

“Now I’ll tell you I didn’t mean to push you if you tell me you didn’t mean to call me a bitch,” she hissed. “Daphne doesn’t need to know about this.”

“We both meant to do what we did,” said Astoria stiffly. She was not going to be pushed around just because she was a good bit smaller than Pansy. Nor because she was freezing.

Pansy let out a raspy, cough-like sound and stormed off. Astoria’s left arm still had a pain in it from where Pansy had tugged her out of the water, and her right arm had a bothersome sensation from where Draco was still holding it. She forced her arm free and was perfectly comfortable giving him dirty looks then.

“Pansy has a short temper,” he said. “I’m sure she didn’t mean to do that, since you’re her best friend’s sister, after all.”

Draco quickly used a Hot-Air charm to dry off Astoria, saying, “Don’t get hypothermia before class even starts. That would be ridiculous.”

With emotionless thanks, Astoria stood up and started running to catch up with the last of the first-years. She was put in a small boat with three other kids, and had managed to drown out their voices until they began worrying about their new school.

“I wonder…”

“I heard that…”

“I thought…”

“What if…?”

Astoria realised that even though she was going in as a third-year, this was her _first_ year at school as well as theirs. She would probably have no clue where to go in the big old castle. She would have trouble making more friends. Would Rhiannon mind if she stayed close to her, or would it seem clingy? Would it make Daphne bully her even more? She did not have very much time to worry about every little thing, though. Before she knew it, she had followed the younger group into Hogwarts Castle and was standing in the warmth of the Great Hall with too many people to count.


	2. An Evening with a Malfoy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each chapter will come with a musical rec, and my [playlist (link)](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLkbEwOpb9udL8NQSwPCtzW_HAw_KqsKFy) will update along with the chapters.
> 
> Chapter Two - "I Can See" by Gorgeous Bully

In the Great Hall, Astoria saw four groups that she could instantly identify. Slytherin, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Gryffindor students all sat, segregated, at long tables beneath a stormy, enchanted ceiling. Astoria breathed heavily.

_This is it_, she thought. _And here comes the song_.

Daphne hadn’t been joking when she told Astoria about the singing hat that had put her in Slytherin. The pointed brown hat that had been placed on a stool opened its stitched mouth and sang. Astoria’s attention was more on the vast beauty of the castle than the tune, but the end of the song caught her:-

_By Gryffindor_,_ the bravest were_

_Prized far beyond the rest_;

_For Ravenclaw_,_ the cleverest_

_Would always be the best_;

_For Hufflepuff_, _hard workers were_

_Most worthy of admission_;

_And power-hungry Slytherin_

_Loved those of great ambition_

_Now slip me snug about your ears_,

_I_’_ve never yet been wrong_,

_I_’_ll have a look inside your mind_

_And tell where you belong_!

What if _Pansy_’_s_ prediction had been correct? Astoria was quite the hard-working girl, after all, and she could end up in Hufflepuff. It seemed like the more worried she was about getting Sorted into Hufflepuff, the harder it was to find Rhiannon in the crowd. But was Slytherin really the right answer?

Astoria could not rely on her family members’ Houses to make a prediction. Her mother’s side had all attended Beauxbatons Academy in France, and the cousins on her father’s side were scattered throughout the Hogwarts houses. But there was no point in letting a bully’s comment upset her on the first day. Even if Astoria was a Hufflepuff, she would find a way to show Pansy a piece of her mind. After all, there had to be some way to humiliate someone as awful as her. As Astoria was occupied with her scheming, the first-years were being sorted alphabetically. Before long, the “G’s” were going up, and then “Greengrass, Astoria!” sounded through the Hall. Astoria heard a distinguishing “Whoo!” from Rhiannon. She had been sitting at the end of the Slytherin table –– how had Astoria missed her? She turned to smile, but a stern-faced lady sat her down on the stool and pushed the Sorting Hat over her head. Astoria heard the hat’s voice in a hushed tone say to her, “I see your father was a Ravenclaw.”

Ravenclaw? Rhiannon wasn’t in Ravenclaw…

“Hm! But you are not a Ravenclaw… no, no,” said the hat to Astoria’s relief. “You do not want to be in Hufflepuff, either? A hard-working girl such as you? Oh, I see… You only work hard because of your ambition, your desire… You wish to prove yourself. Perhaps too much.”

Then silence.

“You’re obviously a S––”

_Don_’_t decide to put me in there because I_’_m a pure-blood, _Astoria interrupted the hat with her thoughts. As much as she liked Rhiannon, she could not guarantee that her friendship with her would require being in a House that full of bullies.

“Pure-blood or not, you’re definitely a SLYTHERIN!” The Sorting Hat called out the last word.

It was lifted off Astoria’s head in a way that she did not want it to be. She fiddled with her sopping hair and walked over to the Slytherin table. Everyone there was clapping except Pansy, though most of the applause was routine. After greeting her older cousins, Ansel and Erez, at the table, Astoria sat down in the large, empty space between Rhiannon and Draco. She knew why the spot was empty — a disproportionate amount of Slytherins didn’t want to sit next to a Muggle-born.

“Way to go!” said Rhiannon. “A pure-blood with a bit of a bite! Of course you’d be in Slytherin!”

“Well, the hat said that I was a Slytherin even if he disregarded my bloodline.”

“That’s what he said to me, too!” exclaimed Rhiannon. “You know, the ‘disregard’ part. Not like I have a family history.” Only a moment later she said, “Plates are for food!”

Astoria was using her golden plate as a mirror to fix her hair.

“Oh, _here_,” sighed Rhiannon.

She pulled an extra hair tie off her wrist and handed it to Astoria. She probably thought Astoria was vain.

“I need a picture of this!” said Daphne, who had managed to appear behind Astoria’s seat without magic. “I have to give you credit, Mu–– _Rhiannon_, you’re the only one to get her to do something unstylish with her hair!”

“’Sat right?” said Rhiannon indifferently, twisting her own ponytail round her fingers.

Daphne saw that Pansy had given her a disapproving look, so she went back to her seat without another word. Astoria could hardly believe that her sister was so fickle. She could hardly even look at her after her alarming behaviour that day, and focused on the ceremony. Kevin Whitby was the last one to be Sorted, and the golden plates punctually filled with food.

“Aren’tcha gonna eat?” asked Rhiannon.

Astoria faced forward again. She did not like being able to see Pansy, Draco, and Daphne out of the corner of her eye, but her attention was diverted to a ghost hovering over the table who was dressed like a nobleman. Of course, noblemen usually don’t have blood smeared all over their coats.

“That’s the Bloody Baron. He’s our House’s ghost,” Rhiannon explained helpfully. “Might as well get used to him. He’s not freshening up anytime soon.”

Astoria had seen only one ghost before, the one who roamed Quennell Park. Here at Hogwarts, she was surrounded by ghosts. She expected a sharp decrease in temperature and that curious feeling in her gut. Somehow, though, twenty ghosts did not have quite the same effect the ghost in her woods did. It made her strangely homesick. Of all the silly things to make her homesick on the first night, the aura of the _ghosts_…

Rhiannon was trying to catch Astoria’s eye again before she zoned completely out. It was a compliment to be the centre of Rhiannon’s attention. Astoria didn’t think she had come across as an interesting person at all.

“We go to our common room after this. Do you know the password? Right now it’s ‘basilisk.’”

“Basilisk?” Astoria asked.

“Yup,” mumbled Rhiannon, seeming to regret bringing it up already. “We had a bit of an issue with one a couple years ago; hungry bugger came right up from the depths of the school. Our common room’s in the dungeons… Er, not same one where the basilisk was!”

Astoria was not sure if she was supposed to take Rhiannon seriously. It sounded like a scary story students told to newcomers. But if it was true…

Professor Dumbledore, the headmaster, had every right to pull Astoria out of her own little world and begin speaking, but she really wished he hadn’t done it the moment she was pondering the existence of monsters.

The Hall went silent immediately. Professor Dumbledore announced that there were four-hundred thirty-seven items forbidden in Hogwarts and that the students could check the list in the caretaker’s office.

“Do we really need to?” whispered Astoria.

“Nah. It’s a lot more convenient to get something taken away from you than to bother looking at that list,” said Rhiannon, indicating that she had experience with the matter. Professor Dumbledore then said that the forest on the grounds was off-limits and that anyone below their third year could not take trips to Hogsmeade.

“_Finally_,” sighed Rhiannon. “We can go this year. It’s about time. I had to go into a war with my mum about the permission slip. In the end, I just got her to scribble on it when she was drunk.”

_When she was drunk? _Astoria thought, trying to think if she had ever seen her parents intoxicated. She had not.

“It’s also my painful duty to tell you that the Inter-House Quidditch Cup will not take place this year,” said the Headmaster.

“Of course,” said Draco, turning to Astoria suddenly. “You know why they cancelled Quidditch, don’t you?”

Draco spoke to her as though they had been in conversation throughout the whole feast. Never mind the fact that he used the “M” word and that his girlfriend pushed her into the lake.

“No, how should I know why?” Astoria responded.

“My father _told_ me why. It’s really a shame they had to cancel Quidditch; I’m the _Seeker_ for the Slytherin team,” he said haughtily.

The Headmaster continued to talk, and Astoria missed most of what he said due to Draco.

“Do you like Quidditch?” he asked.

“I… Not particularly,” muttered Astoria.

On either side of her, Rhiannon and Draco both looked stunned.

“_You don_’_t like Quidditch_?” asked Rhiannon. “What’s wrong with you?”

Astoria had never been asked such a question by anyone other than her sister. She took it as personally as Rhiannon took her not liking the sport. Maybe they didn’t have such a good start anymore.

Draco added something Astoria didn’t hear. Her attention had again been redirected. This time, it was to the old man who had barged in to the Hall like a rolling boulder. He was very wrinkly, had many scars and dents on his face, and had a grotesquely bulging eye that moved independently of the other. Nothing could be heard apart from the thunder clattering from the enchanted ceiling and a hollow _clunk _that sounded each time the man put his left foot down. The lightning flashing all over his warped visage seemed to annoy him, so he drew from his long cloak a pitted old twig (that turned out to be a wand) and used a grand Atmospheric Charm to clear the storm from the ceiling. A moment later, Professor Dumbledore introduced him as Professor Moody, the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.

“_Psssh_,” hissed Rhiannon in a very dramatic manner. “He don’t seem so great.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Astoria, forcing her eyes off the unusual old teacher. “I thought that charm was really fantastic.”

“What? No, I mean, this bloke’s only here because Professor Lupin left. I didn’t give a damn if he was a werewolf or not. You know, he had such an amazing class; my marks went up so much last year, and I understood all the material. He was a very brilliant professor,” Rhiannon vented suddenly.

“Who’s Professor Lupin?” Astoria interrupted. “A… werewolf?”

Rhiannon gave her a stern look.

“Yeah, but Professor Lupin was the best professor this school ever had, and I’m afraid you missed him by a year.”

“That… is disappointing,” Astoria understood.

Trying to make a friend was like walking a tightrope. But a large group of students must have also felt a certain loyalty to the werewolf professor as well, for hardly anyone was clapping for Professor Moody. Moody did not seem to notice the students, for he was already being confronted at the staff table. A witch in pitch-black travelling garb had leaned forward to say, “Sir. _Sir_, are you licensed to use Atmospheric Charms?”

Professor Moody looked more than delighted to have stirred up some trouble.

“I am, miss,” he grumbled before nodding proudly and saying, “but my license is _long_ expired.”

The nerve of the comment shook up the witch even more.

“Sir, under the Wizarding Astronomical and Meteorological Act of––”

“You will notice,” interrupted Professor Moody’s voice as the similar-sounding thunder rumbled outside, “I only used it as a counter-charm on the ceiling.”

Those within earshot looked outside the window to find the lightning still flashing.

“…Oh, of course,” said the witch and returned unobtrusively to her dinner whilst Professor Moody impolitely took a massive gulp from a flask he had on his person.

Since she was striving to become an astronomer, Astoria was much more interested in the conversation about Atmospheric Charms than Professor Dumbledore’s announcement that the Triwizard Tournament would take place that year. He actually said something about a death toll and continued explaining the policies of the Tournament, which included the rule that no one under seventeen could enter. The chatter in the Hall grew very excited, but Astoria couldn’t share the enthusiasm. She wouldn’t have entered something so dangerous even if she was of age, and the monetary prize for the winner would only be wealth on wealth to her family.

Shortly after his announcement, Professor Dumbledore instructed the students to go to their common rooms. Many students began to leave the Hall, but a dreary wizard from the staff table approached Astoria before she could get into a line. This gloomy professor had been sitting next to the witch who had confronted Professor Moody, but his name evaded Astoria. Her father had mentioned the names of all the professors, but who cared about something like that the week before seeing Hogwarts castle for the first time?

The professor was holding a sheet of parchment and a quill dutifully, and it could not be overemphasised that he was anything but cheery. He had oily, shoulder length black hair that fell against his thin face, black-brown eyes, and a large, hooked nose that completed his overbearing image.

“Astoria Greengrass,” he addressed her in a voice coming directly through said nose. “You will need to choose your elective courses now.”

He handed her the parchment and quill. There was list of elective and extra-curricular courses with blank lines next to each of them, which she would need to mark with a check. Astoria looked at the name of each course but noticed there were no course descriptions. The elective courses were Arithmancy, Care of Magical Creatures, Divination, Muggle Studies, and the Study of Ancient Runes. The extra-curricular courses included Art, Muggle Art, Music, Ghoul Studies, Alchemy, and Apparition, the last of which was crossed out. Astoria put a check next to Music, being skilled with the piano and organ, but was unsure about the required electives. The wizard who gave her the paper didn’t look very patient, but she knew hardly anything about the electives.

“Would you please tell me what the electives are like?” she asked.

He did give a very heavy sigh, but described the classes nonetheless.

“In Arithmancy, you will study the magical properties of numbers and possibly be able to predict certain magical patterns with this knowledge. In Care of Magical Creatures, you learn to feed, breed, and care for various creatures… injurious or not. Divination is absurd, and I would not recommend that one of my students take it. In Ancient Runes, you learn the translations and interpretations of lexical and numerical hieroglyphics used by ancient wizards. I would hope Muggle Studies is entirely self-explanatory to you.”

“Thank you,” Astoria said, trying to remember his quote word-for-word. She ended up placing check marks next to the Study of Ancient Runes and Arithmancy, and she handed the paper back to him.

Astoria had to catch up to the Slytherin prefects, who took the students to the common room that Rhiannon had mentioned. Again, she had lost Rhiannon in the crowd and figured that was a sign she had said the wrong thing. She was left to appreciate her new environment alone.

The common room had pretty green lanterns and black leather couches. Most other furniture was unmistakably from the 1800s, with intricate designs carved into the wood. The floors were stone, and a few of the first-years stood stiffly at the top of the steps. Astoria could see why — it rather looked like a haunted house’s parlour. She sat down on one of the black leather couches, which were not very comfortable. Draco Malfoy nonetheless seemed to think they made him look cool. Arriving on the scene, he leaned back on the couch she sat in, and put his feet on the ottoman in front of them. Astoria scooted away from him as far as she could, which was unfortunately only about six inches.

“I think I’ve figured you out,” Draco said, pleased.

“Congratulations,” said Astoria, not wanting to hear an explanation. Where had Rhiannon gone? And if Pansy saw Draco talking to Astoria again, she’d probably attack.

“You don’t see anything wrong with anybody,” he said, almost smirking, as though he solved a very puzzling mystery. “You’re one of those ‘see-the-good-in-people’ types.”

“I have yet to see the good in _you_,” she said.

He raised an eyebrow.

“You’re a narrow-minded snob who likes to pick on younger students with his terrible girlfriend,” said Astoria, since his was a bridge she was not afraid to burn.

“Yeah? You’re a bleeding heart who spends almost as much time trying to hold my hand and befriend a Muggle-born as you do on your hair,” he replied complacently.

Astoria didn’t like that comment. Astoria didn’t like this whole situation. Draco Malfoy was not someone Astoria wanted to be sitting six inches from. That being said, Rhiannon Clarke was not someone Astoria wanted to be sitting _under_.

“Guess what!” said Rhiannon, after she had sat on both Astoria and Draco.

“What is it?” asked Astoria. “Where were you?”

Draco moved to the opposite side of the sofa in revulsion, which caused Rhiannon to plop between the two as she fell off their laps.

“I had to take some of me stuff to the music room. I also went and convinced Snape to change the dorm arrangements,” said Rhiannon. She read from a piece of paper, “‘New dormitory arrangements for Slytherin Room 106, girls’ unit: Carrow, Flora. Carrow, Hestia. Clarke, Rhiannon. Greengrass, Astoria.’ You’re in my room!”

“Oh –– thank you!” said Astoria, a flood of reassurance coming her way.

“How did you manage to do that, Clarke?” asked Draco. “Dorm arrangements stay the same.”

“The girls I was with the last year two years didn’t want to be in the same room as a Muggle-born again. Plus, Snape likes me well enough.”

Draco scowled at Rhiannon and said, “I think you’re missing a girl.”

“About that,” Rhiannon said to Astoria, “there’s only four in this dorm. We have the small one. There are a few in every House, and I guess we’re just lucky,” said Rhiannon.

“Professor Snape likes you all right. He put you in a storage room!” Draco laughed.

Trying not to sound rude, Astoria enquired how lucky they were exactly.

“One less girl we have to deal with,” said Rhiannon. “You ever have five girls to a bathroom?”

“Well, how small is the room?” asked Astoria.

“Er…” Rhiannon stalled. “We have to move the furniture to make it work. Still better than five girls. Trust me.”

Astoria held back a groan. She wasn’t used to small spaces, much less having to share them. But she knew this was coming one way or another.

“We’ll figure out how to work with the space. I’m going to bed. You better go get your bags before you come. I already got mine,” Rhiannon said, and promptly left Draco’s presence.

Astoria had almost forgotten about her things. She fidgeted with her ponytail, longing for her hair potions, her own version of liquid confidence.

“You and I can agree on something, then,” said Draco quietly.

“Oh, you don’t like to wear hair ties, either?” Astoria mocked.

Draco rolled his eyes. “I meant that sharing a room after living like _we_ do is a huge transition.”

“I can manage with a small room,” she said unconvincingly.

“I’m just saying that it’s difficult. I always feel crammed in my dorm, and mine has room for five. My room at the manor could fit about four of these dorm rooms.”

“I hope you aren’t trying to impress me with that.”

“I have better things to do than impress a little girl, you know.”

“Do you really?”

Astoria stood up and started to the door. Her father had warned her about this type of behaviour, particularly when it came from other pure-blood families. The fact that these families couldn’t call the Greengrasses cousins always seemed to get them excited in the wrong way, he said. It was best not to dwell on it and end up with hurt feelings, Father said.

“You have no clue where your luggage is,” said Draco. “It’s usually in our rooms already, but your friend was so kind as to confuse those stupid house elves with the dorm arrangements. You’ll get lost trying to look for your bags.”

Astoria didn’t respond and walked out of the common room. She could ask a teacher where her luggage might be since Rhiannon changed the dorm arrangements. That was not what Draco had in mind, however, to Astoria’s dismay. He was walking in front of her in the dark hall that echoed each of his words.

“If your Muggle-born there doesn’t tell you something, you can always ask me. But I bet you’re too proud to do that,” he said, giving her a smug grin.

“You’re unpleasant,” she tried to get across.

“You’re no cup of tea yourself.”

“Did your parents make you talk to me?” Astoria asked watchfully.

“Ha! My parents thought you were a Squib.”

_Ah_.

Draco acted like he was leading Astoria somewhere, but it would only take a few more turns in those dungeons before their memories would fail them and they would become lost.

“You’ve no idea where you’re going. Why don’t we go up toward the basement and see if my belongings are there? I feel like we’re going downward.”

“That is a very bright idea,” said a macabre voice that Astoria did not recognise.

Draco quickly tightened the distance between him and Astoria. The owner of the voice was not visible.

“Who’s speaking?” Astoria called.

Draco wiped his face in exasperation, indicating that Astoria should not have asked. Slowly, silver-blue specks appeared from nowhere and amalgamated until the image of the Bloody Baron became unwelcomingly clear.

“I am the Bloody Baron, the Ghost of the House of Slytherin,” the ghost said huskily.

“Oh, that’s right,” Astoria said, keeping her eyes on his face so as not to view the mess on his shirt. “Pleasure to meet you, Your Lordship. I am Astoria Greengrass.”

“_Your Lordship_?” Draco whispered. “What’s that guff about?”

“That _guff_, Mr Malfoy,” the Bloody Baron boomed, “is that the young lady recognises which titles with which to address Peerage! I suppose your family never bothered to pass on that knowledge!”

Draco went stone-silent, and the Baron continued, “I saw three suitcases placed at the turn in the main corridor in the basement leading to the kitchens. These are what you are seeking. I was mindful to ban Peeves the Poltergeist from touching them, or else he would surely make a mess of things.”

“That must be them. Thank you very much!” Astoria said and led Draco past the grisly ghost.

“Are those the only bags you brought?” Draco asked when they found her luggage.

“Yes,” she said.

“Did you try to pack lightly?”

He knew she did. He didn’t need to ask.

She picked up her bags and hobbled back down the corridors. She expected him to take a bag from her and carry it, though was unsure of whether to trust him when he did.

“You just handed me the heaviest one,” Draco said teasingly.

“Those are my hair potions. Don’t you drop that bag,” she warned.

“‘Those are my hair potions,’” Draco mimicked Astoria in a high voice, patting his head.

“Be careful, or it might fall out,” she said.

“I guess your Muggle-born told you about that curse she tried to put on me, then. It didn’t work.”

“No, your hair was too pretty for a curse like that,” Astoria mocked, but she was met with a warm laugh. “Hm, I didn’t think you laughed unless you were teasing someone.”

“I didn’t think I did, either,” Draco said.

Astoria tried –– this time successfully –– to avoid the smitten feeling that swept over her when she first saw Draco. But when they made it back to the common room, they were the only ones there, and she didn’t like how much effort she was putting into finding something to say.

“Hope you can find your room. Rooms are _numbered_,” Draco teased. “There’s this horrible charm over the girls’ dormitories to prevent us from going over there, so I can’t help you.”

“I’ll be fine, thank you,” said Astoria, taking her heavy bag from him. She shuffled over to the girls’ corridors and started up the small flight of stairs. Not so much as a “good evening” came from Draco Malfoy upon their departure.


	3. The First Week at Hogwarts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each chapter will come with a musical rec, and my [playlist (link)](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLkbEwOpb9udL8NQSwPCtzW_HAw_KqsKFy) will update along with the chapters.
> 
> Chapter Three - "Afer Ventus" by Enya

Astoria’s first morning in a dormitory went exactly how she expected. She was sharing a tiny closet in which she had her uniforms and casual clothes (which by anyone else’s standards weren’t that casual). She had only one full drawer to herself in the dresser. The twins in her dorm, Flora and Hestia Carrow, took a dreadfully long time to put on their make-up. In fact, they took as much time with their make-up as Astoria needed for her hair. Their dorm only had one small bathroom, as Astoria had been warned, and the three girls were silently fighting over the mirror and counter space when Rhiannon awoke to join them. To the others’ relief, Rhiannon merely walked into the bathroom, combed her hair and tied it back, brushed her teeth, and went to get dressed.

“She’s barely taken off the sleep,” remarked Flora, her grey-green eyes glinting.

“Probably gonna put it right back on anyway,” Rhiannon replied, having overheard her.

Hestia laughed, “That’s a great point.”

Flora and Hestia did not seem like bad roommates despite the way they hogged the mirror. They fortunately had nothing against Muggle-borns. There was no telling what kind of personalities Astoria might have been stuck with if Rhiannon had not secured this arrangement. Still, Flora and Hestia were identical twins, and it was nearly impossible for Astoria to tell them apart. In spite of wanting to make friends, Astoria decided it would be best not to address them by name unless she was completely certain who was who. They wore their dusty-brown hair in the same exact style and put on makeup in more or less the same way. Hestia told Astoria that they did all of that in case they needed to cover for each other, but it didn’t quite click with Astoria why anyone would need to do that. Now, Rhiannon had made the twins’ acquaintance long ago and did not have trouble with distinguishing the two. She claimed that Flora’s face was slightly longer and that Hestia’s was slightly pinker, features Astoria failed to see.

One way or another, all four girls managed to get ready for their day and leave their dormitory in a group.

“What electives did you lot pick?” asked Rhiannon.

“I picked Muggle Studies and Arithmancy,” said Flora.

“I picked Care of Magical Creatures, Arithmancy, and Muggle Studies,” Hestia said.

“I chose Ancient Runes and Arithmancy,” said Astoria, hoping that she chose the best courses. The other third-year students had plenty of time to think about their elective courses the previous year, but she only chose hers the previous night.

“Mine are Care of Magical Creatures and Divination. I’m in Muggle Studies, too, to get an extra good mark, since I already know it all,” said Rhiannon. “Did nobody sign up for an extra-curricular?”

The twins both said “no.”

“I did,” said Astoria. “I’m taking Music on Sundays.”

“All right! I am too. What d’you play?” Rhiannon asked excitedly.

“The piano and the organ,” answered Astoria.

“Oh! I play the guitar,” said Rhiannon, and Astoria didn’t feel as cool anymore.

“We are heading to breakfast, correct?” she asked before any questions came about the organ.

“Yup,” said Rhiannon.

“It really isn’t fair. I think the Great Hall is the most difficult to get to from our dungeons,” said Flora.

“That’s because no one liked Salazar Slytherin,” said Rhiannon, grinning.

Hestia squeezed her nose and stroked a long, imaginary beard. “I do not like dose haff-bluds, Godric! They bathe regularly!”

When the girls arrived at Great Hall and began looking for seats at the Slytherin table, Astoria wished that the students sat by year and not by House. Students from age eleven to eighteen were seated at the table, and Astoria felt very small. Mainly, though, she wished everyone sat with their age group because she was stuck sitting across from Parkinson and Draco. Sitting across from people one doesn’t like at a table was definitely worse that sitting next to them, because Astoria had to try to avoid looking up from her plate. Rhiannon wolfed down her breakfast in about five minutes whilst Astoria continued to eat her breakfast at a humane pace, wondering why Daphne had not made any effort to talk to her since they arrived at school. Was Rhiannon’s “blood” discouraging Daphne from approaching her own sister? Astoria pushed the thought away. Daphne wasn’t _that_ much of a troll. She was just being negatively influenced.

It was much easier not to look up at Parkinson and Draco once the class schedules were delivered. Astoria held the parchment tenderly, since it was evidence of her hard work at home. It was so nice to see _Astronomy 4_ written on her schedule, but her excitement came with a smidge of disappointment. She wouldn’t be with anyone her age, for one thing. She wouldn’t be with anyone in her year, for another thing. The class could be far too difficult, for yet another thing. But the worst thing of all was that she had to take her favourite class with none other than Pansy Parkinson and Draco Malfoy. Was there any chance at going back, or would that look even worse on her?

Astoria’s eyes rolled from the schedule to the owls above her head. Astoria’s owl’s name was Twinkles –– she had named her when she was nine and had since forgotten exactly what kind of owl she was. The small, white and brown kind, if she had to guess. She was quite difficult to discern in the busy group of feathered mail-carriers, but it wasn’t long before she arrived overhead. This was Twinkles’s first morning at Hogwarts, and already she seemed more adjusted to the place than Astoria. Maybe there was something special about Hogwarts that animals liked. It was definitely amazing how none of the owls left droppings on the tables.

“Ha, my mum Jessica wouldn’t know what to do with an owl,” said Rhiannon, watching Astoria handle the envelope. “What’s your letter say?”

Astoria unfolded the letter. It was written entirely in French, but maybe Rhiannon didn’t need to know that. Astoria translated its content from French to English shyly, without Rhiannon’s knowledge.

> _My dear Astoria_,
> 
> _Congratulations on entering into Astronomy 4_!_ Your father and I are very proud of you for studying and working so hard at home_._ Please remember to be careful when using your wand_._ It can be risky_,_ as you know_._ Please do not work yourself too hard any longer_!_ When you have time_, _write us back_,_ and tell us what you think of school_._ We want to know all about it! We miss you already_.
> 
> _Love from Maman_.

“_Risky_?” questioned Rhiannon.

“Er, my wand…” Astoria mumbled, having caught Draco’s attention and therefore Parkinson’s. Astoria tried to lower her voice for only Rhiannon’s ears.

“I haven’t had much trouble with it so far, apart from what’s probably my own fault. Many of my spells are more wobbly than I would like. The Summoning Charm involves me getting hit in the stomach with the object I want.”

“What kind of wand you have that you get hit in the gut?”

“It’s cherry and dragon,” Astoria answered, not bringing it out at the breakfast table no matter how hard Rhiannon watched her pockets.

“Oh, wow,” said Rhiannon. “Mine’s an ebony and Acromantula web core wand. I got it from Jimmy Kiddle’s for about eight Galleons, but I couldn’t buy my uniform after that and had to apply for financial aid from the Ministry. I needed the wand more than the uniforms, so I got it first.”

Astoria’s wand had cost thirteen Galleons, which seemed like a reasonable price at the time. Astoria felt much esteemed to have her wand, and she wondered what it would have been like to walk into Diagon Alley with only around eight Galleons, as Rhiannon had.

“What exactly is an Acromantula?” Astoria asked.

“Giant killer spider,” said Rhiannon plopping a piece of taffy of unknown source in her mouth. “Webs have th’ ability t’ conduct magih. Kinda hard t’ come by, though. Think mine was sort ’f an esperimental wand, so I got it cheaper than normal eb’ny wands cost.”

Draco couldn’t contain himself anymore and spoke up, “Is that why you get bad marks in Charms? You couldn’t afford a better wand? I always thought it was because you’re a Mudblood. Guess that makes matters worse.”

He was eating chocolate sent from home in a manner intended to make Rhiannon jealous. Astoria recognised a spoiled rich kid attitude when she saw one and hoped that she didn’t act like one herself. Rhiannon looked truly insulted. She swallowed her taffy with slight difficulty.

“This wand chose me, Draco. And if I’m correct, your wand would have only cost about that amount, too.”

“I’m sure it’s just wonderful to be able to spend the Ministry’s money with no debt,” Draco said. “The rest of us contribute to that fund, you know.”

Rhiannon reached across the table without trying to be sneaky and took a piece of chocolate from him.

“It’s a real fun time, yeah.”

Astoria noticed that Rhiannon’s breakfast had gone ignored and she was eating only sweets. Draco had big plans to retaliate, but Rhiannon had fixed such a dangerous glare on him that he thought better of it.

The first class Astoria attended was the Study of Ancient Runes. Professor Babbling, the amulet-wearing, grouchy-faced teacher, made it clear that she did not want to teach anybody who wouldn’t take her class seriously, making extra effort to glare at the students who were undeniably bored already. She gave an overview of the class but said that they would not start work until their second section. However, Professor Binns, the ghostly teacher of History of Magic, started lecturing straight away from the moment the students sat down to the moment the bell rang, and perhaps beyond that. In Charms class, Professor Flitwick said they would practise spells they had previously learnt as a review and then begin new material on Monday. And that was when the problems began.

The students were first practising simple Freezing Charms with insects and tossed projectiles. Released from a container, a medium-sized moth flew around Astoria. She really disliked large moths even though she liked butterflies, and this brown behemoth was particularly sickening to her. With her aim following the moth’s flight, she was careful to make sure that no one else was in range of the charm before casting it. When she did cast it, her arm jerked backward painfully. The moth stopped in mid-air and remained there, motionless. She then tried to cast the counter-charm, but it did not work completely. She saw that the moth’s antennae were moving, and tried to cast the counter-charm again. Nothing else happened.

“Professor Flitwick? Have I hurt it?” she called.

The professor walked toward where she was standing and asked her what the problem was.

“The counter-charm isn’t working…” she said. It was rather embarrassing. Would the other students think that she shouldn’t have been put into her third year? This was supposed to be a review, after all. Professor Flitwick had to cast it himself. The moth began to fly again, and he moved it back to its container. As much as she didn’t like insects, she wouldn’t want to hurt one.

“Let me guess, you didn’t really _want_ to make that little moth fly about your head, did you now?”

“…Not really, sir,” Astoria said.

“Yes, that’s the point. You have to have the objective to cast a spell for it to work properly. However…” he said, holding out his hand and motioning Astoria to hand him her wand.

“Cherry wood,” he said as though that was a complete statement.

“Yes…”

“It’s very moody, this wand. What is the core, my dear?”

“Dragon heartstring, sir.”

“Ah,” said the professor, subtly indicating that she would become a problem student. “You should certainly know by now that your wand’s effects are never guaranteed. Have you ever noticed that it is very difficult for you to cast a spell when you are not truly confident in it, or if you are thinking about anything else?”

“Yes. Many of those times, I don’t cast the spell at all,” Astoria answered.

“And other times the spell is, let’s say, more than you planned it to be?”

“Right,” said Astoria. Her Hovering Charms were known to make objects hit the ceiling, her Wand-Lighting Charm was known to make the eyes sore, and she never did cast a successful Disarming Charm that didn’t physically hurt someone.

“I see. Well, you have the ability, Miss Greengrass, but you must tame this wand. Just remember to focus, and more importantly, be careful,” Professor Flitwick said, and went to talk to another student about motion form.

Astoria wasn’t sure what to think. Had she been pointlessly home-schooled? Was it all because of her wand? The whole issue of her not coming to Hogwarts on time was because it took her so long to cast spells. Yet if it was the wand and not her that had caused the trouble, perhaps she really could become as great as her parents. A real witch, not an afterthought.

However, her hopes ebbed after lunch once she went to Transfiguration. The woman who had plopped the Sorting Hat on her, Professor McGonagall, was not as forgiving as Professor Flitwick when Astoria had difficulty with her wand. She muttered something about Astoria’s entrance placement and told Astoria that she expected the problem to be corrected by the next class. In her frustration, Astoria thought the professor must have valued being a Gryffindor above being a good teacher.

Rhiannon took the mere existence of the Defence Against the Dark Arts class as some sort of an insult, claiming that it shouldn’t even _be_ a class since Professor Lupin left, since “crank teachers” got hired for it otherwise. Astoria, Hestia, and Flora had to nod their heads over the course of the day as Rhiannon vented until the third-year Slytherins finally shuffled into classroom 3C and took their seats. Rhiannon made sure that she didn’t enter the classroom until the very second the bell rang, even though she was near the door. Nose in the air, she strode in, screeched her chair against the floor as she pulled it out, and dropped down with a sigh all of the students could hear. Professor Moody made no acknowledgement of her actions and began to take class role.

“Let’s see… Slytherin class of 1999…” he said, fussing with the papers on his desk. He pulled out a small note, and said, “Professor Lupin only covered magical organisms with you last year then? So, your class is behind on dealing with curses, too. Very well.”

Astoria thought that defending herself against curses would come in handy more often than fighting off Dark creatures, although Rhiannon had mentioned something atrocious about a basilisk and seemed to have something ready to say to the new professor.

“Last year’s focus was supposed to be on magical creatures anyway,” Rhiannon spoke out. “The whole year. That lesson plan was okayed by Professor Dumbledore. It’s not like Professor Lupin put us behind or nothing. I’d say we were put ahead after learning zip in our first year.”

Professor Moody didn’t move a muscle on his mangled face, and after giving her that sickening stare with his one eye focused and the other rolling about, he asked, “Rhiannon Clarke, correct?”

Rhiannon stalled as the eyes of all the students fixed on her. A few students behind them began whispering. Professor Moody opened a drawer and grabbed an envelope with her name on it, creasing it inconsiderately as he handled it and sent it flying towards her with a spell. Rhiannon flipped the envelope all over and prepared to open it, but the professor addressed the class loudly:-

“You’re not going to get scared today like the Gryffindors in your year, I assume?” A few giggles were his answer. “Right, then,” he said. “Who can name the Unforgivable Curses for me?”

Twenty-nine hands immediately rose. Rhiannon looked too concerned that she got a detention slip to join them.

“I’d expect as much,” Professor Moody said to the wiggling hands in his face. “Bit of a trend for the Slytherins to be better in this class, hm. Be careful what image you portray by being so eager. All right, all right, Mr Davis, what are they?”

Montel Davis, Tracey’s younger brother, answered, “The Imperius Curse, the Cruciatus Curse, and the Killing Curse.”

“Yes. And I guess most of you can tell me about them, too.”

Alexa Crover, a pretty girl with an unnaturally loud voice, replied, “The Imperius Curse puts the victim in a trance that gives the one casting it control of the person’s mind; the Cruciatus Curse inflicts terrible pain on the victim; the Killing Curse, well, you know, kills the victim.”

“I do know, Miss Crover,” Professor Moody nodded and posed another question, “Do any of you know the incantations?”

Max Manson answered, “_Imperio_, _Crucio_, and… _Avada Kedavra_…” from the back of the room.

“Five points to Slytherin. We’re only five minutes into class. So we’re moving right on.”

Astoria didn’t know whether to be proud or dismayed. It was stereotypically Slytherin of them to know so much about the Dark Arts. It couldn’t be a reflection of everyone’s true character, though.

“Do you need me to demonstrate the curses with the spiders here?” the professor asked, holding a container with fuzzy black arachnids in it.

Muffled “no’s” were the answer beneath Rhiannon’s absolute refusal.

“Get out your parchment and start writing,” Moody met with his irritatingly gravelly voice, and began lecturing on the curses.

The students were able to conclude that in order to avoid these curses, one must have “CONSTANT VIGILANCE,” since the professor shouted that about seven times. Rhiannon was out the door only seconds after the bell rang; Astoria had to run to catch up with her, avoiding the gyroscopic eye of the professor.

“What did I tell you — terrible class,” Rhiannon harrumphed.

“You got a detention slip, Rhiannon,” mentioned Hestia. “That makes any class bad.”

Rhiannon unfolded the letter she had kept in her pocket during class. After looking at it with surprise, she held it in front of them. The paper was rather small and stained in spots with something blue. On it, in smudged ink, read:

_Chin up_,_ Rhiannon_. _Don_’_t let the other students discourage you_._ You_’_re here to make history _––_ remember that_!

-_ R_._ Lupin_

Folding it up again, Rhiannon began to dash through the corridors. Lacking the same encouragement from their instructors, Astoria, Hestia, and Flora walked at a normal pace. Their steady footsteps echoed against the walls whilst the rapid _pit-pat_ of Rhiannon’s shoes sounded ahead of them.

That evening, Astoria finally had her first peaceful meal since she left home. Tracey Davis sat on one side of Astoria, and Rhiannon sat at the other side. Across from her sat a girl whose name also happened to be Tracey. Since Draco and Parkinson sat on the other end of the table, the only annoyance Astoria had was that neither Tracey could figure out which one was being addressed and that they both kept shouting “What? Me?”

After dinner, Astoria and Rhiannon had a very fun time complaining their hearts out about Transfiguration as Flora looked on, unimpressed.

“My brain’s out of think-power,” Rhiannon said. “I’m going to bed.”

Astoria was going to go back to the dorm, too, but Daphne had come to the common room and wanted to talk to her. It was like she had waited until Rhiannon had left for bed, which already sat wrong with Astoria. She warily joined her sister on one of the uncomfortable couches.

“I am so sorry that I’ve been avoiding you, Astoria,” Daphne said quietly. “I’m kind of in this… this group, you see––”

“Yes, I see, Daphne. They’re all charming people,” Astoria snapped.

“Astoria, look—” Daphne started.

“No, I get it. You don’t want to be associated with your ‘Mudblood-lover’ of a sister, of course. I know, Daphne. I know.”

“You’re my sister and I love you, but it’s just really embarrassing for me to have you go and be friends with her. She’s the only one in Slytherin. Even you know she shouldn’t be here. She just doesn’t fit.”

This was a very hard conversation to have with Daphne, and Astoria felt it would have been easier to send her off with a jinx than to try to reason with her.

“Who are you embarrassed for, Daphne? _Parkinson_? Honestly, she’s a waste of space! I bet the rest of your friends aren’t half as hateful as you and Parkinson!” Astoria exclaimed.

Her fists were clenched, and her nerves were so tight that the slightest interruption could have made her jump out of the seat. Astoria could hardly believe her own anger. Why was blood status such an issue all of the sudden? They never talked about it before. Was it just a problem at this school, or had Astoria been sheltered far too much to know about it? Daphne remained silent. She pushed a few tresses behind her ears and looked down ashamedly.

“I’m sorry, Astoria. I really am, because I don’t want to hurt you. I’d rather you play along, but I guess I get it… But can you try to understand me? I’ve got something to tell you. You see that guy over there?” She lifted her head and her eyes fell on the tall young man Astoria remembered from the train.

“What about him?” Astoria struggled to ask at a normal volume.

“Well, he’s probably the most prejudiced guy in this entire school. But I… I like him. That’s Blaise Zabini, you know. And I _really_ like him,” said Daphne.

Daphne sounded like she was apologising when she said that she liked Blaise. And as Daphne stared hopelessly at Blaise, Astoria nearly felt pity for her sister. Daphne’s situation was stupid, yes, but Daphne herself was sometimes stupid, and that was something Astoria had known for a long time.

“_Changing _for him like that isn’t right,” she said, reaching out and touching Daphne’s hand.

“I know. Oh, I know! He’s so arrogant,” said Daphne. “The only girls he pays attention to are Pansy and me. And he doesn’t like Pansy, so I think he might like me. So when I say stuff about Rhiannon and such, I’m _just_ saying it. Blaise hates Mudblood-lovers. And if I don’t agree with Pansy and Blaise, I’ll be in a bad situation. I’m so sorry, Astoria. We can talk and stuff at home. Or when _they_ go home. You know. It’s just––”

“That’s enough. I don’t want to know the details of your clique,” said Astoria.

Daphne frowned and left to join Parkinson and the others. She was so easily manipulated. Wasn’t a guy like that a bit extreme for Daphne? What could she see in him besides his looks? And who said that she had to hang out with them anyway? Daphne was chatty, pretty, and outgoing. She could have made other friends without half the effort Astoria would need. Astoria couldn’t think of anything to say to Daphne to help her, and she was long gone anyway. Astoria needed to forget about it for now and get ready for bed.

The dormitory was decorated with various things that the four girls had brought with them from home. Flora and Hestia managed to make the room greener than it already was. Flora had brought decorative ornamentals, abstract sculptures, and embossed runes. She apparently had an interest in tiny green baubles, which were scattered on every flat surface in the room. Hestia had brought in a few plants that she placed in the corner. She cheerily said they fed themselves magically and they didn’t need sunlight; all of the Slytherin dorms lacked windows. Rhiannon’s monstrously large suitcase had remained mostly unpacked because she believed it was best to keep its contents hidden. She did have a few posters on the wall behind her bed that had Muggle music groups on them. Rhiannon loved Muggle bands, having grown up listening to them. She even had a zippered bag that contained a few cassettes that could be played with devices that used electricity. When Astoria had asked how she would be able listen to her music, Rhiannon said that she couldn’t without a “boom box” and that if she tried, her tapes might explode from all of the magic in the castle. She said she did own a Hobgoblins album and a Spellbound album that both could be played at school, however. When asked why she bothered to bring her Muggle tapes if she couldn’t listen to them, Rhiannon said that she did not want them to get sold or stolen whilst she was gone. It came across as paranoid at first, but maybe her home situation was worse than Astoria had thought.

Astoria had brought mostly clothes and toiletries. She hadn’t thought of ways to personalise the room except with her celestial maps, which she had taped to the ceiling above her bed. It was the perfect way to see pictures of the constellations. It was like looking at the night sky, only it was greyscale and labelled. The other three girls told her that she should use those for Astronomy class instead, but she had memorised the maps already and did not need them for class. She went over the names of the stars in her head, staring at the maps as she tried to fall asleep. It didn’t end up working.

Rhiannon’s snoring was part of the problem. Looking over, she saw the girl lying on her stomach with her arms outstretched over the edge of the bed. Trying not to giggle at this spectacle, Astoria lit a small candle and began to write on a sheet of parchment.

_Dear Maman and Father_,

_I am very glad that I am able to attend Hogwarts_._ I cannot thank you enough for my home_-_schooling_._ I was able to enter my third year and one fourth_-_year class, Astronomy, because of you_._ I share a room with Flora and Hestia Carrow and Rhiannon Clarke_._ Pansy Parkinson is most awful_;_ she is in Daphne_’_s class_. _She and her boyfriend, Draco Malfoy, have already bothered me_. _I try not to think about them too much; they call Rhiannon foul names._

_ I chose to take the Study of Ancient Runes and Arithmancy for my two elective classes_._ I am also taking Music at the weekends. Professor Flitwick is my favourite teacher so far_,_ though I have not had all of my classes yet_._ Daphne has a terrible crush on the blood supremacist Blaise Zabini_,_ so she must ignore me for the sake of the crush_._ I am sure you understand that she cannot control her feelings_ _and behaviour_.

_Thank you for writing me,_

_With love_,

_Astoria_

Astoria read the letter again and was quite content with the way she indirectly tattled on her sister.

“Writing your parents?” asked Rhiannon, who was sitting on the edge of her bed. She rubbed her eyes until they went red.

“Yes. Did I wake you?” asked Astoria.

“Yeah, but that’s fine. I was in a light sleep.”

Astoria didn’t believe that based on Rhiannon’s snoring. She rolled the letter up and tied it with a string.

“I can’t really write my parents,” said Rhiannon softly.

Astoria turned to face her. “I suppose you could ask the Headmaster if you could use the Muggles’ postal system to write to them,” she encouraged.

“The post ain’t why I can’t write to them. They hated that I’m a witch. Jessica wouldn’t support me when I came here, so I had to steal her Muggle money and exchange it to Wizarding currency at Gringotts. Then I only had eight Galleons. Thought it was stupid of her to keep a jar of money under her bed in a neighbourhood like ours, eh?”

Astoria made a noncommittal expression of acknowledgement. Rhiannon didn’t take offense.

“I didn’t care about stealing. My parents treated me like shit my whole life. They hate me, you know. Think I’m possessed or something. That’s why I haven’t seen me dad since I was eleven; he just thought it’d be a great idea to scarper from his witch-kid,” Rhiannon scowled. “Wouldn’t want to see him anyway; he’d still be beating me when I come home in the summers.”

“Oh… I’m… so sorry to hear that, Rhiannon,” said Astoria, stunned.

It was all she could say. She couldn’t believe that Rhiannon would need to steal from her own mother, who couldn’t really be called a mother. She couldn’t understand how Rhiannon’s parents could hate their own child. Rhiannon had such a family dynamic that caused her to call her mother by her first name and to not even remotely miss her father. Astoria had somehow convinced herself that these situations were confined to the newspaper, that there were no such things as poverty and abusive families. Yet there was Rhiannon Clarke, living, breathing proof that there is a world outside of Quennell Park. It was world no one deserved.

Rhiannon yawned and slumped back on the headboard. “Hey, where are the twins?”

“I don’t know; I thought they were still in the common room,” replied Astoria.

“Well, it’s 12:45. Could you get them, please? I don’t want them waking me up when they come in,” requested Rhiannon.

Going back to the common room was one of the last things Astoria wanted to do, but she agreed to go because being awakened by the twins would be unpleasant for everyone. To Astoria’s relief, not very many students were lingering there. Flora and Hestia were working on their homework at the desks in the corner of the room.

“Would you mind coming back to the dormitory?” said Astoria. “We’d like to sleep.”

“Ten more minutes,” Flora said without looking up. “I’m about finished now. I don’t want to have to do this tiny bit in the morning.”

“I guess so,” said Astoria.

Hestia was more cooperative, and said that it wasn’t worth staying up all night to finish the stacks of homework she still had to do. She fumbled with her books and retreated to their room. Astoria sat down next to Flora, who was scribbling away on a Muggle Studies assignment.

“Hestia was loafing around the whole time I was working,” Flora complained. “Sometimes I just can’t believe her. She’s taking _three_ elective classes in addition to our core classes and doesn’t want to do her homework until the last minute. You know she says she gets better marks that way? She’s absurd. The only thing she gets good marks in is Herbology, and she’s going to lose that too if she doesn’t get with it.”

Astoria silently agreed with Flora, though she didn’t want to say anything that could insult Hestia. After Flora finished her homework, she leaned over to Astoria and said, “I heard that Draco Malfoy got turned into a ferret today by Professor Moody.”

Astoria chuckled, taking it as a joke until she realised that Flora was speaking in all seriousness.

“Wait! Where did you hear _that_?” Astoria asked.

“From Professor Moody!” said Flora. “He asked me where ‘that Malfoy lad’ was after the bell rang for his class. I told him I didn’t know, and he sort of smiled. He asked me if I saw him turn Draco into a ferret earlier. I said no, of course. When I caught up to you and Hestia, I still thought he was joking… until I passed some Gryffindors later, and that’s _all_ they were talking about!”

“A… ferret?” Astoria said as she pictured a pale-furred ferret squeaking noisily at everyone. Her face broke into a smile despite the fact that she almost felt sorry for Draco. But there were many good reasons to Transfigure the likes of Draco into a ferret.

Flora and Astoria went to their dorm to find an angry Rhiannon, who had to wait “thirteen minutes and twenty-six seconds” for them before she could go to sleep.

~

“I don’t think you’re gonna like Professor Snape,” Rhiannon said after lunch on Monday.

“Why not? He’s our Head of House, isn’t he?” Astoria responded.

“Yeah, and he usually lets us off the hook, but sometimes I think he just don’t like people.”

Potions was scheduled with the Gryffindors. Thankfully, the one class Astoria had with them was taught by the teacher who preferred Slytherins. Astoria had been in Hogwarts for only a few days, but she could already sense the negative attitude toward Slytherin students. It almost felt like there were two Houses instead of four: Slytherins and everyone else. Before class, a Gryffindor girl claimed to be quoting Hagrid when she said, “‘There wasn’t a single witch or wizard who went bad that wasn’t in Slytherin.’” Astoria was far beyond tired of making enemies, but having only been one table away, she grew more defensive than usual.

“Oh, please. You don’t actually believe that,” said Astoria to the girls who laughed.

“Prove me wrong,” the girl challenged. However, her challenge wasn’t very strong. She had seen that she had upset Astoria and was already starting to relent. “Are you new here? I didn’t see you last year.”

Astoria gauged her quickly. She had long, red hair and a face full of freckles. The tone of her voice was feminine and small, but she used it in a gruff way.

“I am new,” said Astoria. “My name is Astoria Greengrass.”

“Uh-huh… I’m Ginny Weasley,” said the girl, and turned back to her friends.

Astoria wasn’t sure what to make of the interaction. At that moment, Professor Snape entered the room, which was all silent except for Ginny, and said, “Ginevra! You are talking when I’m about to start class. Summer is over. This is not a good start to your year. Five points from Gryffindor.”

Ginny frowned. Rhiannon stifled a laugh, whispering, “I love it how he calls her ‘Ginevra.’ I have Astronomy and Care of Magical Creatures with her too, but it’s never ‘Ginevra’ ’cept in here.”

Professor Snape didn’t dock the same points from Rhiannon for whispering, so maybe his bias towards Slytherin was true. By the end of class, Astoria was able to get on Professor Snape’s good side, which Rhiannon described as being “very small.” Astoria had become very interested in the effects of potions as she read ahead in her textbook. On the last few pages of the book, there was a list titled Advanced Potions. After looking it over, Astoria asked if they would be making those potions for the end-of-year exam.

Professor Snape gave what one might call the smallest smile in written history, and said, “No. In your sixth and seventh years, if you pass your Ordinary Wizarding Level Potions exam, you will be able to make advanced potions. Planning on doing something _dangerous_, are we, Miss Greengrass?”

“No, sir. There isn’t much about them in the book… I wanted to, er, be prepared.”

“Five points to Slytherin,” said Professor Snape out of the blue.

The Gryffindors groaned and called Astoria a teacher’s pet. Astoria would never consider herself a teacher’s pet to someone with such an unpleasant attitude. Regardless, she didn’t expect to earn any points for her House, and got excited. She wasn’t sure why she had been given House points, though the Gryffindors started complaining that he awarded Slytherins points for hardly any reason at all, which seemed like a logical explanation. She just had to show up to class and be a Slytherin. It sort of took away from the victory.

“Way to go,” Rhiannon whispered with a smile that was much more rewarding than five points. “Guess you’ll like Snape after all.”

On Tuesdays, Astoria had Herbology. She had disliked taking this during home-schooling and hated being there in the official class even more. The professor, Pomona Sprout, was a kind and cheerful woman, but Astoria found her taste in a profession to be revolting. The farther away from the sky Astoria was, the less she liked it. Thus, digging around in dirt, dung, and gross-looking plants was one hour of torture for her, and the gloves that the professor provided them never seemed to be long enough. The most Astoria could plant were regular flowers, not the mutant, cellar-dweller plants they dealt with in class. The stench of fertiliser in the greenhouse and the sight of wiggling plants that had brown spots on them was overwhelmingly gross. Rhiannon, Flora, and Hestia didn’t mind the class, and the Ravenclaws who looked so professional dealing with earth and plants made Astoria feel that she didn’t fit in. Well… not _all _of the Ravenclaws looked professional. One girl with long and messy blonde hair was staring and picking at a puffapod leaf as though she was trying to decipher its secrets. Astoria later found out that most students called the girl “Loony Lovegood” instead of her actual name, Luna, and debated whether or not it was a fitting title.

At nine o’clock that night, Astoria had her first Astronomy class. She was excited to go in spite of Draco and Parkinson’s being there. However, they sat close to Astoria when they came into class, which diminished the excitement. She didn’t have time to move her seat, as the professor came sweeping by. Astoria recognised her as the witch who had spoken about Atmospheric Charms at the opening feast and couldn’t contain her excitement. Professor Aurora Sinistra had vouched for Astoria’s acceleration to this class. And for that, she idolised her instantly.

Professor Sinistra was a tall witch with black hair that she held in a braided bun. She was wearing gold and orange robes with tiny crystal jewels sewn on the seams and a matching headscarf. Her manner was very reserved, and she was wearing a smile, beautiful but fake.

Professor Sinistra raised her wand above her head, and all of the windows in the tower flew open, sucking the night air in. The whole room was shaded in an inky blue. Upon the return of normal lighting, Astoria noticed that the professor had cleared an entire region of the outside sky from clouds with an even grander Atmospheric Charm than the one Professor Moody had used as on the Great Hall’s ceiling.

“This year we will be focusing heavily on constellations, reviewing some planetary bodies, and learning about the different types of stars. I’ll call attendance and then let you pick partners for the year.”

“Professor Sinistra,” Astoria called out, her hand raised desperately. “When will we learn Atmospheric Charms?”

The professor smiled, and it wasn’t a fake one this time.

“I’m afraid that you will not learn those until your sixth and seventh years, and that you may not use them until you are licensed.”

_Why does everything interesting have to be crammed into the last two years_? Astoria thought as Professor Sinistra started to go through the list of students. After Blaise Zabini was called, the professor did exactly what Astoria was hoping she wouldn’t do.

“So you may have noticed that we have another student here with us. She is two years ahead in Astronomy. ”

This announcement could only mean that the other students wouldn’t treat her as a regular classmate. Everyone in the tower stared at Astoria as Professor Sinistra spoke. Most of the fourth-years were noticeably offended about having a younger student in their class.

“Now,” said the professor, “you have five minutes to choose partners. When you’ve chosen, write your names on this list. There’s an even number of you in here, so _do not_ make this difficult.”

Astoria thought that it would be best to sit at her desk and wait for the last unlucky fourth-year who needed a partner. In only a minute, however, Tracey Davis approached her.

“Got a partner?” Tracey asked.

“Well, no,” said Astoria.

“I don’t, either. So unless you were waiting for somebody else, I’ll take the liberty of being with the rising star,” Tracey said.

Tracey and Astoria signed their names on the chart and returned to their desk. The other students were still fussing about trying to choose partners; Astoria noticed that there were not very many inter-House pairs. She saw that Daphne had paired up with Sally-Anne, and Parkinson had paired with Millicent. Vince Crabbe and Greg Goyle were forced to be together since Draco had joined with Blaise. Astoria reasoned that he did this to keep his marks good, since Vince and Greg would bring anyone else’s marks down.

“So… uh… do you like school, Astoria?” asked Tracey.

“It’s okay,” said Astoria.

“Just ‘okay?’ I love it here! What don’t you like about it?”

“I do _like_ it,” Astoria said.

But for one thing, she didn’t like Draco and Blaise sitting at the desk right behind her. Parkinson sat a few desks away, blocked from Astoria’s immediate view by a pair of Hufflepuffs. A small blessing. Perhaps Draco knew that Astronomy was Astoria’s favourite class and was trying to ruin it for her. Perhaps he was trying to find out her weaknesses so that Parkinson could bully her harshly back in the common room. Or perhaps he was naturally irritating, because he could not bear to leave Astoria alone.

“You never did say how you managed to get in here. Did you cheat on your exam at home?” Draco asked, leaning over his desk. “I bet it was easy with no one watching.”

“I don’t cheat,” Astoria said, but the grin on Draco’s face did not go away.

“Right, of course you don’t. I bet Daphne’s happy to be in class with you.”

“Your sarcasm is mediocre,” stated Astoria.

“You’re both getting irritating,” said Blaise in pure disgust.

Draco looked defeated and slouched back in his seat. Professor Sinistra then reviewed the partner arrangements aloud and pulled out a stack of parchment from a drawer in her desk.

“These are pre-tests to see what you know so far about the material we’ll be covering this year,” she said. “We have never covered any of this. I only want to see where you are. And yes, you’re expected to use the sky as reference, as I did not clear it for no reason. Do your best.”

In the dimness, Astoria finished the test in roughly twenty-five minutes. She was very confident with her answers, but when Professor Sinistra looked at the test with surprise, Astoria instantly thought she failed. She remembered that her marks now would secure her accelerated position in the class. After most of the other students turned theirs in, Draco started an unwelcome conversation.

“Did you know all the answers?” he asked.

“I couldn’t remember some,” Astoria said honestly.

“That’s too bad,” he said insincerely. “What did you put on question number four?”

“I put the answer, of course.”

“I bet you guessed on half of the questions,” Draco said.

“I did not. I knew most of them.”

“Know-it-all,” said Draco.

Astoria turned around and was speechless until the end of class. When Astoria entered her dorm later, the other three girls had numerous questions for her about taking fourth-year Astronomy.

Flora started with, “Is taking Astronomy with the fourth years dreadful?”

“I’m sure it will get better,” said Astoria unsurely.

“Oh,” Flora said. “What’s wrong with it now?”

“The seat I have right in front of Draco Malfoy is permanent,” said Astoria glumly.

“Oh… I have something in my drawer for headaches if you like,” Hestia chimed in.

~

By the time Astoria had finished the plethora of Ancient Runes homework that Professor Babbling set, it was nearly time to go to Astronomy class on Thursday night. Astoria made her way to the top of Astronomy Tower, a journey that took her about forty-five minutes from her dorm in the dungeons –– and that was providing that the staircase didn’t move. Once there, she realised she should have procured some headache potion from Hestia, however little she trusted it.

“Look, Astoria! You failed your pre-test! And I thought this was your best class,” barked Draco as he waved Astoria’s test paper at her. Astoria nearly stopped breathing. How could she possibly fail that if she was confident of the answers? Did she finish it too quickly and not read the questions carefully enough? Were they going to kick her out of Astronomy 4?

“How did you get that?” she cried, trying uselessly to grab the papers from him as he held his arm in the air. When Professor Sinistra came near them to pass out maps, Draco immediately gave the paper to Astoria along with an impish grin. Marked at the top of the page in red was a small note saying that she did an excellent job and was one of six students to get almost all of the questions correct.

“I got that, too,” Draco said, still smiling. Astoria wasn’t amused.

“Quit taking my papers already!” she hissed.

“I’ll try to do it more often,” he said, walking toward Vince Crabbe and Greg Goyle, who turned out to be even more obnoxious than he was. Those two never failed to laugh in Astoria’s face whenever Draco or Parkinson teased her.

Astoria shuffled back to her seat next to Tracey. The students were unfolding their maps of Capricornus, the constellation they were studying for their first test.

“Does anyone know why I handed this map out?” asked Professor Sinistra. A Hufflepuff flung her hand in the air before Astoria could.

“Capricornus is best visible during this month, though it is still difficult to see.”

“Right!” said the professor. “And does anyone know which star is easiest to see out of this constellation?”

Another student answered, “_Delta Capricorni_.”

“Take five points for Hufflepuff! Does anyone know why this star is the brightest in the constellation? I won’t take ‘It’s big,’ for an answer,” continued the Professor.

This time, Astoria beat the Hufflepuffs.

“_Delta Capricorni_ is in a quaternary star system. The light from three stars surrounding the white giant _Delta Capricorni_ _A_, I believe… makes the system look like one bright star,” Astoria said, recalling what she had read previously.

“That’s five points to Slytherin! Is everyone taking notes as we go along?” Professor Sinistra asked the class.

Astoria felt the glares of many students on her, and there was much muttering.

“I never could have guessed,” whispered Tracey.

“I’m kind of an astronomy fanatic,” Astoria whispered back.

“Yeah, I got that part,” Tracey said jokingly.

“Fanatic no doubt,” Draco teased. “They should observe you in a lab.”

“What _now,_ Malfoy?” Astoria snapped, turning to face him.

“Nothing, I’m just imagining you’ll be the biggest teacher’s pet,” he said.

“Like you aren’t?” argued Tracey. “You’re a total teacher’s pet to Professor Snape.”

“I––”

“Silence, class.”

Professor Sinistra began her first lecture after she extinguished all the candles and the chattering. She had the most interesting way of teaching in Astoria’s opinion; it was the polar opposite of Professor Binns’s history lectures. In total darkness, the stars shone vividly against the sky from the view of the tower. The students all took out their luminescent ink and began to prepare their notes. Professor Sinistra had repositioned all the desks to face the window through which Capricornus itself was visible, or at least visible enough. She instructed the students to follow along with her lecture by looking at their maps, which had the constellation in great detail. The professor had charmed the maps to make the stars light up in blue whenever she said their names. But the best part had to be when she made the images come off of their maps and float in the air above them as she described the constellation’s declination on the celestial sphere. Of course, the perfect presentation was difficult to focus on when the back of Astoria’s chair was being unceasingly kicked by Draco.

“Would you stop already?” Astoria seethed in his direction. She didn’t really expect him to stop, and she was right not to. She looked behind her to see that he was noticeably slouched. Even though Astoria was certain it would be much easier for him to sit normally, she knew he would much rather waste effort by annoying people than to be comfortable. It was very difficult for Astoria to take notes, since every time she went to write, he kicked her chair and the ink from her quill scribbled all over the page.

“Draco, stop it,” she whispered louder.

“Someone has an attitude,” he replied.

“This _whole room_ is filled with your attitude,” she sneered.

“Is there a problem?” the professor interrupted edgily.

“May Tracey and I move, please?” Astoria asked. “Draco’s bothering me and has messed up my parchment.”

The professor was not inclined to let them change seats, but she had a pretty strong threat ready for the perpetrator: “Mr Malfoy, if you don’t stop annoying these young ladies, I will have you mop _every step in this tower_ each night.”

Draco didn’t reply. Though he had stopped explicitly pestering her, he kept tapping the tip of his quill against his ink bottle, making a noise that he must have known would annoy Astoria. After sitting in front of Draco for an hour of class, Astoria just wanted to scream.

“Why do you let him get to you so much?” asked Rhiannon as Astoria fogged up the common room window with a sigh. She had just finished talking about Astronomy class.

“I’m not being dramatic. I’m truly angry!” argued Astoria.

“Well, I just try to keep my cool around him. If you’re unresponsive, he loses interest. Or do you not_ want_ him to lose interest?” she questioned, elbowing Astoria’s arm.

Draco, who was only a group of kids away, was looking at them. And if he heard Rhiannon say that…!

“Quiet,” hushed Astoria.

“Hey, you were the one who said he was hot on the train,” teased Rhiannon.

Astoria was getting angrier by the second and praying that Draco could not read lips.

“I also called him an idiot, and believe me, I could call him much worse things than _that_. Have you heard about what happened last month? I overheard Ginevra say he called a girl a ‘Mudblood’ at the Quidditch World Cup when a…”

She paused.

“When a what?” asked Rhiannon.

“When a riot was going on,” said Astoria slowly. Rhiannon looked confused, so Astoria whispered “Death Eaters. It was like he was siding with them.”

Rhiannon’s dark brown eyes went wide. They were full of a strange harshness Astoria hadn’t noticed before.

“I see,” Rhiannon said grimly. Her gaze met Draco’s, and he looked away from the girls.

“My parents said they knew of his father’s connection with them. It hardly surprises me,” Astoria said, her voice straining.

“I’ve heard about his dad, too,” said Rhiannon.

After a very long silence, Astoria buried her face the map of Capricornus she was holding and changed the subject.

“I don’t have a map this nice of Capricornus,” she said. “Do you think I’ll get to keep this?”

“If you spill something on it, I’m sure Sinistra won’t want it back,” Rhiannon said, her usual grin spreading slowly across her face again.


	4. A Spiral Notebook

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each chapter will come with a musical rec, and my [playlist (link)](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLkbEwOpb9udL8NQSwPCtzW_HAw_KqsKFy) will update along with the chapters.
> 
> Chapter Four - "Stormy Weather" by Etta James

Rhiannon only revealed more of the contents of her mysterious suitcase to her roommates upon their extensive pestering. Previously left unpacked, they turned out to be Muggle objects, a few of which Astoria had seen read about. Flora, Hestia, and Astoria, all having very little experience with Muggles, were fascinated with some of the things Rhiannon decided to bring along. There ballpoint pens, batteries that served no purpose, and “cold medicine.” Rhiannon said it would only work for one measly hour to relieve symptoms of the common cold, but you could only use it a few times a day.

“We just use Pepperup potion to cure a cold,” said Hestia. “It doesn’t have a good flavour.”

“It makes steam come out of your ears for some hours after taking it, too,” said Flora.

“No, no, the flavour it says is a lie,” said Rhiannon. “Shit tastes awful. But I got it in case I’m not in a _steamy_ mood and don’t want everyone to look at me.”

Rhiannon also brought a worn, five-subject “spiral” notebook. Some of the pages had spill marks on them, and Rhiannon must have written her name on the tattered cover at least fifteen times with different markers.

“What’s in that?” asked Hestia, leaning closer to Rhiannon, who was holding the notebook protectively.

“Music,” said Rhiannon.

“You write music?” asked Astoria.

“Yeah, I’ve always wanted to be in a band,” said Rhiannon dreamily, letting free her grasp on the notebook. “You know what? You three can read this… or write your own songs in here. It gets the emotions out.”

The other girls made a hobby of reading Rhiannon’s songs and musical compositions when there was nothing else to do. Most of the lyrics were resentful and angry, and Flora and Hestia often formed theories about their meanings. Astoria thought their behaviour was in poor taste; they could have taken the time to ask Rhiannon. Then again, Astoria didn’t ask either. She knew the pain would come back to Rhiannon’s parents, and she didn’t want to open a wound.

Rhiannon told them that she played the guitar, and that if she really liked the music she wrote, she would put lyrics with it. When the girls asked to hear some of the songs sometime, Rhiannon said that she couldn’t perform since she played the Muggle electric guitar. Anything with electricity would not work in the castle. Plus, she noted that she did not have a bass guitar or drum to go with her guitar, and said the pieces would sound “empty and weird” without them. Rhiannon’s words fascinated Astoria, whose concept of music was anything but free and artistic. It had always been a discipline for Astoria. But Rhiannon had no idea about classical Wizarding pieces and could only mention classical Muggle composers by name without a clear idea of who did what. It was all irrelevant to her.

Rhiannon sent and received letters periodically. For as obvious as she made the act, she would not let any of the girls see the letters and would not say who they were for. Not owning an owl, she would make trips to the owlery alone to use one of the school’s. Astoria always wanted to go with her on the walk, partly out of curiosity and partly out of her wish to know more about Rhiannon than what was on the surface. Her bouts of brutal honesty about her home life often came without context, and without a common experience, Astoria felt like she couldn’t offer the right kind of support.

With all of that being said, the strangest thing that occurred in that first month was that Draco had somehow determined that he was on “hello” terms with Astoria. His greetings at mealtimes and in the hall became a norm, and sometimes on certain occasions, Astoria caught herself in a real, albeit _very_ short, conversation with him with no malice behind their words. Although, Draco seemed to think everything she said was hilarious for no reason at all, and Astoria felt as though she was ultimately being mocked.

October arrived, and on one windy morning, Astoria stood in a crowd of students who were all trying to see the sign posted in the Entrance Hall. Since the start of school, the fuss about the Triwizard Tournament had been increasing steadily. Eventually shoved toward where she could see the sign, Astoria read the announcement that students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang would be arriving at Hogwarts in a week for the Tournament. Astoria’s mother had five siblings, so Astoria guessed that there would be many cousins coming from Beauxbatons and was eagerly waiting to see them again.

Finally, the day came for the other students to arrive at Hogwarts. It was nearing dusk, and the Hogwarts students were ushered outside, forming lines from first years to seventh years. Professor Dumbledore, who was standing behind all of the students, had to call out so they could hear him in the commotion. Something in his voice told the students that they should brace themselves. Sure enough, an enormous carriage that held the Beauxbatons students came flying round the entrance at top speed and landed close to the door. The Beauxbatons’ headmistress of threatening stature, Madame Maxime, stepped out of the carriage and ordered her students into the castle. There were only about ten of them, much to Astoria’s disappointment. After Madame Maxime had a few words with Professor Dumbledore, her students proceeded inside. Astoria craned her neck to see if she recognised any cousins there at all, but the Beauxbatons students were camouflaged, being that they had only had two styles of uniform robes — one for girls and one for boys. As the students in pale blue, silken robes scuttled into the castle, Astoria couldn’t help but feel shabby in her cotton black robes.

“See any relatives?” asked Rhiannon, who, as predicted, had become very interested in “how French” Astoria was after she found out.

“I hope _someone_ is there. I can’t see,” answered Astoria.

“Do your cousins speak English?” asked Rhiannon.

“Yes, however brokenly. Some of the younger ones don’t, but they wouldn’t be here for the Tournament.”

“_You_ speak French?” asked Draco, who was standing behind them the whole time.

Astoria cringed. It was one thing for her best friend to think she was an exotic creature, but Draco would torment her forever. There was no point in lying, though. He had heard everything.

“Yes, my mother taught it to me,” said Astoria. “She’s from France.”

“So if you say something in French, I’ll have to take your word for it that you’re not swearing at me,” said Draco.

He cracked a smile. Astoria was baffled by his pleasant self-awareness.

“Exactly,” she said.

The light chatter of the students ceased when they saw the Durmstrang students’ entry. A large ship in poor condition emerged from the lake outside. The promenade of Durmstrang students earned cheers and thrilled shouts from the Hogwarts population. Apparently, Viktor Krum, a professional Quidditch player, attended Durmstrang. Rhiannon and Draco actually started gibbering excitedly to _each other_, apparently too star-struck to remember their enmity. They were both busy trying to get a glimpse of Viktor’s face, who in all likelihood looked like anybody else. Astoria retained her placid manner; sports and celebrities were of no interest to her. Most others were shouting at their friends desperately for a quill, which none of them seemed to be carrying, to get an autograph from Viktor Krum.

The students moved to the Great Hall, and Astoria was disappointed to find that the Beauxbatons chose to sit with the Ravenclaws. The Durmstrangs did sit with the Slytherins; Viktor Krum himself was sitting not far from Astoria. Rhiannon was ecstatic. She leaned over her dinner plate, held out a torn piece of parchment and one of her trusty ballpoint pens to Viktor Krum, and asked him in an atypically polite tone for an autograph. This caused a bit of a scene. The students near Rhiannon who weren’t begging her to borrow the pen were deriding her for carrying such a thing.

“That’s that Mudblood!” scoffed Diane Carter, one of the worst in their year. “Don’t use that pen, Victor! The Muggle ink’s poison!”

“Really, she shouldn’t even be here –– I wouldn’t sign her autograph,” shouted Parkinson.

Up close, Astoria could see Rhiannon’s face getting red and noticed her swallowing harder. Farther from her, no one saw that discomfort. Despite how much she was bullied, Rhiannon had a tough image unless exceedingly provoked. She continued to hold the pen and parchment. Viktor Krum stared at her for a moment, and with a small smile, he took her silly ballpoint pen and signed his autograph. Rhiannon yelled a hearty “thank you” over the uproar of infernal, pubescent Slytherin girls and sat back down in her seat.

“I can’t believe he signed that,” Draco hissed at her. “They don’t even allow _your _type at his school.”

Rhiannon, who was extraordinarily peaceable at the moment, replied, “If you shut your gob right now, Malfoy, I’ll give you some parchment and this pen.”

Draco minded her and was able to get an autograph of his own in the cheap Muggle ink. Surprisingly enough, Viktor and Draco got into a conversation thanks to her. By the look on Draco’s face, he didn’t know whether to be thankful or embarrassed.

“Why did you do that?” Astoria asked.

“Prove a point,” Rhiannon shrugged. “Watch him think about it.”

Astoria would not have conducted the same experiment, but then again, her interactions with others were limited compared to Rhiannon’s, whether pleasant or unpleasant. As interesting as it was to see Draco’s moral struggles, the Beauxbatons students were much more captivating. Unable to hold in the excitement, Astoria caught Rhiannon’s attention again and mouthed, “I’ll be over there.”

Astoria stood in the space between the Slytherin and Ravenclaw table, looking out-of-place as she searched for a familiar face. The number of eyes on her made it feel like forever, but it was only a few moments before she spotted a cousin, Sofronia Kippling, and inched closer. From that spot, she could see another one of her cousins, Zéphir Ciel, who was from Beauxbatons. He was fourteen years old and had chestnut-coloured hair and grey-blue eyes. He was already much taller than his fellow classmates and visibly proud to be infatuating the Ravenclaw girls.

“Zéphir! Comment ça va?” Astoria hollered to get his attention. Her cousin nearly jumped out of his seat to greet her. Astoria had not seen Zéphir since the previous Christmas. He made a spot for her to sit and introduced her to his fellow Beauxbatons students.

“_This is my cousin_,_ Astoria Greengrass_,” Zéphir said in French. “_She still speaks French fluently_ _for all of the English food she puts in her mouth._”

Astoria was met with “enchanté’s” and “enchantée’s” from the shivering students dressed in lightweight uniforms. The girls’ robes looked to be of pure silk and were loosely fitting, whilst the boys’ uniforms had silk shirts and grey vests. Most waived or shook Astoria’s hand, but a very welcome double-kiss, or _faire la bise_, was from Zéphir’s good friend, Philippe Boisvert, who was seated next to him. He had ash-blond hair that hung well over his ears, striking blue eyes, and a very kind smile. He did not look to be as disoriented as the other guests.

When Madame Maxime entered the Great Hall, the Beauxbatons students rose out of respect. Astoria rose also, being surrounded by mostly Beauxbatons and not wanting to be the odd one out. She heard some fellow Slytherins laughing behind her but didn’t give it much thought. She sat again only once Madame Maxime sat down and Dumbledore welcomed the guests. The plates on the table were filled with food right after; Astoria was happy to see some variety in the dishes for once. Philippe courteously passed her a bowl of bouillabaisse; it made her heart flutter when their fingers touched. Astoria saw Sofronia subtly cringing at the sight of the regular French dishes, but Sofronia was much less reluctant to try a variety of the_ petits fours_ for dessert. Indeed, they little treats were popular all round, for Professor Sinistra made sure to collect two handfuls of them before leaving the ceremony with her loot.

After the plates were cleared, Professor Dumbledore introduced the wizards who had organised the Triwizard Tournament and who would be included on the panel of judges, Mr Bartemius Crouch and Mr Ludo Bagman. Astoria glanced up to see two new faces at the staff table. Mr crouch was sitting next to Madame Maxime and had what was left of his grey hair glued to the top of his head. He looked so grouchy that he might have even been in physical pain. Mr Bagman was sitting next to Durmstrang Headmaster Professor Karkaroff; he was much larger than Mr Crouch and wore a well-proportioned smile to match. He waved kindly to the applauding students when his name was announced. He clearly liked being the centre of fanfare.

Mr Filch, the caretaker, then brought in the curious Goblet of Fire, which would be “choosing” a Champion to play in the Tournament from each school. Professor Dumbledore announced that any student of at least age seventeen who was wishing to compete should enter his or her name into the Goblet by Hallowe’en. A few of the eagerest students put their names in straight away. Then Hogwarts students headed back to their dormitories, the Durmstrangs returned to the ship, and the Beauxbatons headed to their carriage. Astoria watched Zéphir and Philippe leaving, and then saw Rhiannon’s face just in front of hers and felt her deep brown eyes trying to stare right through her soul. Somehow that worked, because Rhiannon immediately knew Astoria was staring at Philippe with admiration.

“He’s cute, huh?” Rhiannon exclaimed, looking back only to catch a very small glimpse of him.

“Isn’t he?” laughed Astoria. “I’m starting to think I like blonds.”

“Who’s cute?” demanded Parkinson, who had walked up behind Rhiannon.

“What do you care?” asked Rhiannon in an equally demanding manner.

Parkinson had a murderous expression on her face.

“That Beauxbatons boy,” Astoria huffed.

Parkinson looked to the Beauxbatons, but Philippe was out of sight.

“Oh,” she said. She looked quite satisfied –– maybe even _happy_, if that was possible. Then she said the strangest thing.

“Go for it, Greengrass.”

She nudged Astoria’s arm.

“Excuse me?” Astoria asked. The two were _nowhere_ near arm-nudging terms.

But Parkinson hurried over to Millicent Bulstrode and walked to the dungeons before Astoria’s group.

“What was that about?” Astoria wondered aloud.

“Sounds like she knows the French bloke,” said Rhiannon.

“Philippe,” said Astoria.

“Yeah. It sounds like Parkinson knows him or something and it’s a trap to get you to like him so he can turn you down,” Rhiannon theorised.

“No, that’s silly. How would Parkinson know a student from another school? Her whole world is the dungeons downstairs,” said Flora. “I bet she thinks it’s funny that you like someone and she’s ready to tell the entire school.”

“I’m not sure about that,” said Hestia.

The girls looked at her intently.

“I say she wants you to like the Fren–_Philippe_.”

“Sure she does, because she _always_ wishes good things to happen to people,” said Flora.

“Really,” said Hestia. “I can tell. She wants things to work out with him. Malfoy’s paying too much attention to you for her taste.”

Astoria grimaced.

“Are you joking? He only pays attention to me when he has some snarky comment. I only go easy on Draco because the less you argue with him, the sooner it ends.”

“Yeah, but Hestia has a point,” said Rhiannon. “All those times Malfoy talks to you, haven’t you seen Parkinson?”

“I don’t think of her as something I should try to see,” said Astoria blatantly.

Rhiannon laughed, “Yeah, well, you oughta sometime. Her face is hilarious when it’s all red and wrinkly.”

“If it bothers her so much, I would rather her drag Draco away than merely make faces from afar. Then I wouldn’t have to talk to him longer than necessary,” muttered Astoria.

“Well, if she does that, she might annoy her beloved,” said Hestia knowledgably. “And that is the last thing she wants to do.”

“Basically, you have Parkinson right where you want her. If I was you, I would talk to the Beauxbatons boy, but talk to Draco every once in a while to keep her in place. It makes her so angry, and she can’t do anything!” Rhiannon said.

“You’re wicked,” Hestia hummed to Rhiannon.

“Yes, why would I go through all that effort?” Astoria confronted.

“You like blonds anyway,” Rhiannon said, sticking her tongue out.

~

On Saturday morning, Astoria rose slowly, looked at the clock, and found that it was nearing ten-thirty. She was not met with the rituals of the morning; Hestia and Flora weren’t fussing with make-up in the mirror, and Rhiannon wasn’t falling all over the place as she changed her clothes half-asleep. In fact, the others were not even in the dorm, so Astoria had all the time and space she needed to fix her hair. She changed into a white poet blouse with loosely-tied bows round its wrists and a flowing black skirt. She adorned herself with a diamond necklace. And the more time she spent on her appearance, the more she realised her ultimate goal was to talk to Philippe. She left her dorm near eleven-thirty to find him, but the first person she saw was Draco. He was the only one sitting in the common room, propped upon one of the uncomfortable leather couches. He had his face in a book titled _Moronic Muggles_.

“You missed breakfast,” he said, looking up from his book.

“What was for breakfast today?” she asked.

“The usual, and some sort of Norwegian fish,” he replied.

“Oh, did you try the fish?”

“Not since it was looking at me.”

Astoria smiled to herself.

“Would you happen to know where Rhiannon is?”

“No, why would I?”

“Bullies usually know where their victims are,” Astoria shrugged. “I thought I’d use your powers for good.”

Draco scrunched his face at her and shook his head mockingly.

“Well, I came back here since everyone was blabbering about the Tournament like a bunch of idiots. They’re all after the money. People will die for money.”

Astoria secretly agreed with this viewpoint, but by no means would she let him know it. Nodding a sort of a goodbye, Astoria walked toward the staircase.

“Why are you speed-walking?” Draco called as though it was his business.

“I’m going to find Rhiannon,” Astoria huffed.

“Sure you are, all dressed up like that,” he said smugly.

“I normally dress like this, you know.”

“Right,” he said. “You’re going to find Rhiannon wearing all of those hair things and jewellery on a Saturday afternoon at school. I bet you’re going to meet some of those Frenchies you saw last night.”

Astoria ignored him and hurried along. In the Great Hall, students from all three schools watched and waited to see who put their name into the Goblet of Fire. It was nearly time for lunch, and Astoria noticed Curtis Evercreech, the token class dork, already sitting in his spot at the Slytherin table, staring down at his empty plate nearly ready to drool. Rhiannon, whom Astoria saw on the other side of the table, was also glaring her plate, but with much more impatience than hunger.

“Oi!” she called. “Are you sittin’ here or with the Ravenclaws?”

“I don’t know; it depends,” Astoria answered.

But after a few Beauxbatons sat at the Slytherin table, Astoria guessed that there would be a chain reaction and took her normal seat. She did not have to wait long before she saw Zéphir and Philippe.

“Bonjour,” Astoria said.

“Bonjour,” they said politely.

“Ceci est mon ami, Rhiannon Clarke. Rhiannon, this is my cousin Zéphir Ciel, and this is Philippe Boisvert.”

Rhiannon waved at them quickly, obviously to avoid Philippe’s preference for cheek-kisses.

“Do you know what’s for lunch?” Zéphir asked as he took his seat.

“No, we pretty much have to guess every day,” Rhiannon replied. “Where do you live?”

“I live in Cavaillon. Do you know where that is?” Zéphir said.

“Not a clue,” said Rhiannon.

“Vaucluse?” Zéphir provided.

“Yeah, no clue,” Rhiannon misheard.

“It’s in southeast France,” said Astoria.

“That’s neat,” said Rhiannon. “I reside in the bad part of London, to put it simply.”

With her eyes lowered, she saw the roast beef sandwiches and green beans appear on their plates and promptly stuffed her mouth full of food.

“Where are you from, Philippe?” Astoria asked.

“Do you know Meuse?”

“Yes.”

“I live in Ribeaucourt. It’s very remote; I think we are the only Wizarding family.”

“I live just outside of Penhurst. I basically live in the middle of nowhere, too. Plus, I used to be home-schooled,” Astoria said.

He made a face and then laughed. “Sounds very lonely.”

_I am very lonely_, Astoria silently lamented.

“So, are you two staying here for the whole Tournament?” Rhiannon asked.

“Yes,” said Philippe. “I would have put my name in if I was older.”

Astoria was very glad that he was not of age. She kept hearing how dangerous the Tournament was, and if the age limit was lower and Philippe was picked, she’d be terribly worried throughout the whole thing.

Draco had finished his lunch and was paying very close attention to what they were saying. This was suddenly more worrying than the Triwizard Tournament and all of its life-or-death advertising.

“There we have it, then,” Draco said. “You were dressing up for a roast beef lunch, all right! Hey, Phillip, guess what?”

Philippe looked over. Astoria had a small panic attack.

“Malfoy, I swear…”

He sniggered and whispered something to Greg Goyle. Astoria excused herself from her group, and sat right across from Draco.

“If you say one thing to him, Malfoy, I’m warning you…” she threatened, holding tightly to her wand in her skirt pocket and not considering that detention would ensue if she tried to jinx him.

“Why would I say anything? You’re having a grand old time with _Pierre_ over there; am I the kind of person to ruin that?”

“_Yes_,” she hissed. “Why don’t you go and bother your stupid girlfriend instead? I’m sure she’d enjoy the company. And I’m sure my sister is getting tired of hers.”

Astoria noticed Parkinson looking her way, and Daphne’s head slipped down onto the table in theatrical exasperation.

“Wait… Pansy? We’re friends,” Draco said.

“Of course you are. So go disturb your ‘friend.’”

“You think I’m lying?”

“You lie quite a bit.”

“Huh. She likes me, I’ll admit that. It’s sort of hard _not_ to,” he said, beaming.

Astoria rolled her eyes so hard that it kind of hurt.

“Go sit with Pierre; I promise I won’t say anything,” Draco said shrewdly.

“I don’t trust you at all.”

“Then sit with me,” he shrugged.

“Oh, please,” she grumbled.

She returned to her original seat, and continued to talk with Philippe and the others, glancing over at Draco every now and then to make sure he hadn’t shouted something embarrassing. Unfortunately, he found her glances more funny than intimidating.

It was storming ridiculously violently that evening, and the Slytherin common room must have looked the bleakest and felt the coldest that it ever had. Several of the lamps in the room were flickering emotively along with the commotion far above in the sky, and Rhiannon watched them with deep concern.

“You know, lights are only s’posed to flicker that way if they’re electric,” she said.

Many of the students who had not been thinking much of it were now watching the lights as well. Astoria had some experience with magical lights faltering and tried to comfort Rhiannon.

“It could be that a new spell needs cast. It just happens to be storming at the same time.”

“That ain’t it.”

“Well,” Astoria said, “Some very strong storms can shake the walls in old buildings.”

“But not the basement, unless it’s an earthquake. And we wouldn’t get an earthquake.”

The students who were watching the lights along with Rhiannon were now making comments about her, ranging from “she’s right” to “stupid Mudblood.”

Rhiannon ignored them and drew Astoria closer.

“The storm’s magic. I can feel it. Storms haven’t never done this to the lights before in all the time we had storms. We don’t hear the storms like this down here. I imagine the Ravenclaws and Gryffindors are hiding under their beds about now.”

Astoria politely acknowledged Rhiannon’s unease, but she had too much homework to get too curious about it. She soon found herself at a desk in the corner of the room, trying to work on the Arithmancy assignments that she was unable to finish in class. Flora and Hestia were on the couch, squabbling over Muggle Studies homework but too ashamed to ask Rhiannon, who had left for the dormitory to work on a “secret” project. The storm screamed and cried for hours longer, to the point that Astoria had difficulty concentrating. Why hadn’t Professor Sinistra used an Atmospheric Charm to calm the storm, even a little bit? Astoria could only imagine the deafening noise in the Astronomy Tower. Maybe it was too dangerous a storm to try to cast one on it. Or maybe she was already asleep and had earplugs in. As Astoria was trying to remember the number four’s properties in classical philosophy, Daphne approached her and pulled up a chair on the opposite side of the tiny desk.

“How have you been?” asked Daphne.

“You wouldn’t care to know,” said Astoria.

“Come, Astoria. I finally get a chance to talk to you and you act like this?”

“You have had many chances to talk to me. You choose not to so you won’t be guilty-by-association with your own sister,” Astoria sneered.

Daphne didn’t reply to that. Instead, she leaned over the table to look at Astoria’s homework.

“Arithmancy, is it? I like that class, but it gets pretty difficult later, I hear. The seventh years have to create architectural blueprints and incorporate things like moving staircases.”

“I won’t take it in my seventh year, then.”

“What do you think you’d choose if you had to take another elective?” her sister asked.

“Definitely not Muggle Studies,” Astoria said, looking over at Flora and Hestia fussing over their impossible homework and muttering about “telemarketers.”

“You could try Divination instead,” Daphne suggested.

“No thanks, I don’t need to know how I might die.”

“I don’t see things like that! And without Divination, the only thing left is Care of Magical Creatures.”

“I don’t think so, Daphne. Those things in Professor Hagrid’s lawn will either chew my arm off or pee on me.”

“That’s very true,” said Daphne.

“So, are you excited about the Tournament?” Daphne spoke again, obviously desperate for conversation.

“I think it’s ridiculous,” Astoria said. “It’s too dangerous, and the Champions will be behind on school work.”

“Magic is more than good marks, Astoria,” her sister remarked.

Daphne had thought all along that Astoria made up for her average magical ability with her test-taking skills. It bothered Astoria to no end. Testing into her third year had proved to make more work for her, not put her where she belonged. It wasn’t anything for Daphne to comment on.

“I don’t appreciate you talking about my marks, Daphne. I’m really trying.”

“Astoria, I can’t even talk to you without you becoming defensive! You’re the one who set that standard at home, and now your whole personality’s gone away in favour of impressing Maman and Daddy!”

“I have a right to be defensive; I worked a lot harder than you did to get here! And what do I get when I come to school? A best friend whom everyone bullies, Malfoy and his girlfriend, and a sister who suddenly pretends I don’t exist!”

“Astoria––”

“I see you all the time, yet you’ve hardly talked to me in _two months_! If you’re going to only be my sister _some_ of time, I don’t want a sister at all.”

Astoria’s heart was racing. Daphne sat across from Astoria in complete silence. She then got up and rushed to her dorm. Astoria didn’t want to throw a tantrum and tried to convince herself that she hadn’t. She scanned the room, making sure that the fight between her and her sister didn’t make much of a scene. The only person who gave it much attention was Parkinson. Astoria wiped her eyes quickly.

“Hey, scumsucker, what are you crying for?” Parkinson said, drawing so close that she was looming.

“Don’t call me that,” Astoria said softly.

“Sounds like you and Daph had a fight, huh? Your sister doesn’t want to be with a blood-traitor like you? I feel sorry for her.”

“This is between my sister and me.”

“You look ugly when you cry, I hope you know that,” Parkinson spat.

And that was it. Astoria, after only crying more, grabbed her books and scooted out of her seat. If Parkinson wouldn’t go away, Astoria would have to. She ran to her dormitory, purposely bumping into Parkinson on her way. If Rhiannon had a problem with Astoria being in the room, that was too bad.

“Hey! I said you can’t –– whoa, what’s wrong with you?” Rhiannon started.

“I can’t stand these people,” Astoria sobbed. “This school is weird.”

“I know, I know. Here, have a tissue.”

Astoria was thankful that she could look ugly in peace. Rhiannon was a very kind friend to let her cry into a tissue for four or five minutes when she was trying to work on something Astoria shouldn’t know of. Astoria then flipped over on the bed and stared at the ceiling, letting the remaining tears run down the side of her face and onto the pillow. She took her breaths deeply and tried to think of something else.

“You want to know something funny?” Rhiannon said.

“What?” Astoria asked.

“Today’s Parkinson’s birthday, and no one remembered except Millicent Bulstrode,” said Rhiannon.

“You’re joking,” said Astoria, rolling on her side to see her.

“No, I’m not. Ask anyone. She was so angry at breakfast she spilt four people’s pumpkin juice in a row. Then she had detention with Snape until a little before lunch and has unexcused absences galore. It was the best thing that happened all month.”

And it was the best thing Astoria could hear at the moment.

“Will you tell me what you’re working on, please?” Astoria asked.

“You’ll find out tomorrow. Or you’ll find out part of it tomorrow, anyway. That don’t mean it’ll work, though…” Rhiannon replied. “I think you should go to sleep early. You look exhausted.”

“I only look that way from crying,” Astoria argued, but after changing into pyjamas for the night, she ended up drifting off to sleep anyway.

~

“Up! Up!” Rhiannon’s voice became less and less hazy. “Get up, Astoria! We have music class in twenty minutes! You never set the alarm!”

That was definitely not enough time for Astoria to orient herself to the new day. She let out a small shriek as she jumped out of bed and hurried to get changed. Flora and Hestia were most likely at breakfast, but Astoria would be missing breakfast yet again. She choked down some of the marshmallows from a bag that Rhiannon had sitting on her bedside table. Astoria chose to ignore the look of agony Rhiannon wore on her face as five of her precious (but nearly unpalatable) marshmallows were eaten. Astoria wrinkled her uniform putting it on so hurriedly and headed straight for the mirror.

“OH NO YOU DON’T!” Rhiannon shouted. “Hair tie –– _NOW!_ I don’t know if you realise this, but we are SEVEN FLOORS UNDER THE MUSIC ROOM!”

Astoria did not budge from the mirror, so Rhiannon had to take her by the shoulders and push her out of the dormitory. Since they each skipped every other step, apart from the times they had to mind the vanishing steps, they were able to make it to the music room only three or so minutes late. Rhiannon complained that her back was nearly broken from hauling her guitar case up the stairs along with the extra carrier for the useless electric wires and pedals that went along with her guitar. When Astoria asked why Rhiannon did not simply use a Levitating Charm to move her things, Rhiannon said that she could not have kept focus on it well enough whilst trying to hurry. That, at least, Astoria could relate to.

In Music class, there were about fifteen other students who all stared at the two girls when they entered; most of them were Ravenclaws like Professor Flitwick had been.

“Late, Miss Clarke, Miss Greengrass?” the professor said.

“Sorry, sir. You know, class is kinda far away from our dorm,” Rhiannon said.

“You should have more responsibility, girls. Five points from Slytherin.”

Astoria heard Rhiannon swear under her breath and was happy that the professor did not.

“Professor Flitwick, Erm, I think I’ve fixed that problem I’ve been having with my guitar,” Rhiannon said uneasily.

“How did you manage that, Miss Clarke?” asked the professor, holding no grudge against Rhiannon’s lateness. Elective courses tended to be more laid-back, and Professor Flitwick himself was a very kind teacher.

“I was er, practising those charms for a while and I think I’ve got it,” said Rhiannon. “The Hobgoblins always used it, and I thought I’d give it a go with all my usual equipment.”

“See, Rhiannon? It’s just like Charms class. Practice _does_ make perfect! So, be my guest,” said the professor, indicating where she should set up.

Rhiannon opened one of the cases she was carrying and pulled out a complex Muggle pedalboard. The other students were watching in awe.

“That’s the Muggle-born Slytherin,” said a Ravenclaw boy.

“I thought that was her in our class! She’s brought in wires…?” said another.

“What in the world is she planning to do with that thing?” asked an older Hufflepuff.

“Shut up over there. I gotta concentrate,” Rhiannon said to the group of chattering students.

They fell silent, closed-minded, watching her. She set her guitar against the wall, opened the music room’s closet, and pulled out a heavy-looking Muggle guitar amplifier that had her name written on pieces of whitish tape on the sides.

“Thanks for lettin’ me keep these here, Professor.”

“No trouble,” said the professor, who had been watching her just as curiously as the other students. “Be careful with those, though. Are you sure there are no electrical parts to that anymore?”

“Positive, sir,” Rhiannon said. “I worked on these forever. Didn’t want them getting ruined.”

Rhiannon connected her guitar with her pedals and amplifier. After she adjusted a few knobs on her pedals and concluded that everything was the way she wanted, she lifted her guitar over her shoulders, took out her wand, and looked over at the other students with a grin. She looked extraordinary standing there with all of her interconnected wires, trying her best to combine two worlds to fit her taste.

“If this doesn’t work, I’m jumping out that window,” she said.

Astoria noticed that many wires hung loose, since there was absolutely nothing in the castle Rhiannon could connect them to. Rhiannon aimed her wand at the amplifier and said “_Sonorus_.” The unplugged amplifier emitted a scratchy noise and a faint blue glow for a brief moment. Aiming her wand at the pedalboard, she said “_Administro distortione_,” and it momentarily glowed blue as well. She then tapped her wand against her guitar and said “_Administro pulso_.” Rhiannon took a deep breath of anticipation, and plucked a few stings on her guitar, stepping on one of the pedals. A fuzzy tune was emitted through the amplifier. Rhiannon’s face lit up, and she jumped up and down, playing a catchy guitar instrumental.

“It works! It works! The pedals and everything!” she shouted over her own loud music. “I made it work!”

“That’s amazing!” Astoria yelled so Rhiannon could hear her. The students who weren’t breathing through their mouths offered a small applause for her efforts. Rhiannon had just played an electric guitar with no electricity! That must have been what she was tirelessly working on the previous day to finish before that Sunday’s class. Rhiannon flicked a few switches on the amp, and set her guitar back against the wall. She ran over to Astoria, grabbing her hands and still jumping.

“I can’t believe it worked!”

“Congratulations!” said Professor Flitwick.

“Thank you! Thank you!” she exclaimed.

She started to pack up her equipment again, and pushed the amps back into the closet. She set her guitar back in its case and took her seat amongst the still-gaping students.

“What kind of guitar is that?” asked Astoria.

“A Jaguar,” Rhiannon said. “I got it really cheap because I bought it from a guy who bought it from a guy who stole it from a used guitar shop.”

“That’s not really what I meant…”

“What’d you mean?”

“Well, what were all those wires for, and how did they work without electricity?”

Rhiannon breathlessly explained, “I been tearing apart my guitar cables. I was so worried that I’d never be able to use them again. They needed to conduct magic instead of electricity, so I had to rig ’em up. _Sonorus_ basically turned the amp on. Electric –– er, _this type_ of guitar can hardly make a sound on its own. It’s not hollow like an acoustic, so the vibrations from the strings being plucked don’t echo. It needs the amp to sound like it’s s’posed to.

“I stole the other charms from the Hobgoblins. _Administro distortione_ conducts magic through the pedals. This one’s pretty complicated, since it makes sure all the pedals make the sound that they would if run by electricity. I was totally lost on this charm for about a year. All the pedals distort the sound originally made by the guitar before going to the amp. My favourite pedal is the fuzzbox –– I was gonna be so pissed if it didn’t work.

“The third one, _Administro pulso_, basically makes my guitar a magical counterpart of the electric guitar. All that it does is allow magic to make the sound vibrations the guitar needs. Like I said, I didn’t make none of these charms. Stubby Boardman made the last two. See, bands had to use these charms before the magic equivalent of electric guitars was made about ten years ago. I couldn’t ever dream of getting a magical guitar at the price I got this one. I’m stuck with the old-fashioned way, but it’s tried and true. I like its sound more, to be honest.”

Astoria was not sure if she understood the whole process, but she was very impressed that Rhiannon learnt it. Everything Muggles did seemed roundabout without magic, but even when Muggle-borns entered the magical community, they had to innovate to preserve what they had grown up with. It was sad. It was amazing.

“I award twenty points to Slytherin for Miss Clarke’s persistence in her endeavours and advancement in Music,” declared Professor Flitwick. “For those of you who don’t know, she’s been working on this for two years.”

Rhiannon made a joyful noise.

“So you’ve earned your House fifteen, since you were late and lost five earlier,” he chuckled.

Rhiannon smiled at Astoria. It was obvious she cared more about the acknowledgement of a job well done than the points.

After class, the girls made their long journey back down to the dungeons. They passed a group of Hufflepuffs once in the basement, all talking about their fellow student, Cedric, entering the Triwizard Tournament.

“Oh, that’s right. The Champions are announced tomorrow,” said Rhiannon.

“It’s about time they start it so I don’t have to listen to rumours anymore. All I’ve been hearing this month is gossip about this Tournament,” Astoria ranted.

“Calm down, Astoria, it ain’t the end of the world,” Rhiannon remarked.

Astoria knew it wasn’t the _end of the world_, but she felt like there was no one to talk to besides her roommates without having to talk about things she didn’t care about. It was almost November, and Astoria could count her friends on one hand. Daphne was very popular. Actually, everybody in her family was popular except for her. But her Slytherin cousins were too old to hang out with, and it would be silly to force herself into her Ravenclaw cousins’ group of friends. At first she had thought it was simply homesickness, but she now felt like she wasn’t cut out for the social life of a Greengrass _at all_.

It didn’t help that all eyes were on Astoria when she entered the common room. News of the fight between Daphne and her had evidently circulated. Astoria and Rhiannon walked down the steps into the sitting area, and then hurried to the other side to go up the stairs to their dorm. But after Rhiannon put her guitar and gear away, and started back to the common room.

“Aren’t you coming?” Rhiannon asked, holding open the door for Astoria.

“No, I think I’ll stay here.”

“I don’t think Parkinson’s in there, if that’s what you’re worried about. Running away from your problems won’t do no good, Astoria.”

“My problems follow me,” Astoria said.

Rhiannon gave her a blank look.

“Why don’t you fix your hair like you like it and come down in a bit, okay?” she suggested and closed the door. It was a little patronising.

Astoria didn’t obey, and lay down on her bed. Utter boredom, though, was not so great either. So Astoria stumbled over to the closet in which Rhiannon had put her guitar and took out the case. It was faux leather –– someone like Astoria would be absolutely sure of that at first glance. She flipped the snaps open and carefully lifted the guitar out of its case. To Astoria, holding the instrument in her arms felt like not being able to hold her baby cousins. It was a foreign piece to her; she had never even held an acoustic guitar before. There were scratch marks and nicks all over the body of the guitar, and Astoria could see spots where stickers had been ripped off and the adhesive remained.

In a kneeling pose, she was beginning to think that the dorms needed thicker and softer carpeting. Holding the guitar on the floor was uncomfortable, but Astoria felt it would be much more gauche standing up. Hugging the guitar clumsily, Astoria mustered the courage to pluck the strings. She did not see where Rhiannon kept her guitar picks –– Astoria’s fingers would later feel tingly as a result. She knew that no one would hear her play a dumb tune, but sometimes she embarrassed herself all alone.

A quiet noise kept her company when she strummed the guitar. The soft, random tune she played was accompanied with the occasional brief squeaking noise, as though the guitar was asking for an amplifier. Astoria thought it would be in her best interest to put it back instead of ruin it. It would remain in its case until Rhiannon would decide to play one of her half-finished songs again. Astoria stood up on numb legs and reached for Rhiannon’s five-subject notebook. She closed her eyes and opened the book up to a random page, the only way it didn’t feel so nosey. The page she opened up to was blank. Chuckling to herself, she tried again and found a song with no title. Rhiannon’s words had dotless i’s. Astoria read the words shyly.

_I guess they found a way to find me_

_I find they_’_ve searched for ways to hate me_

_Good thing they never break me_

_They’re afraid to watch me bleed_

Rhiannon would probably write fuzzy-sounding music for something like this, even though she preferred to write the words after the music. Like many of the other entries in the notebook, Rhiannon made a statement about being a Muggle-born. Rhiannon was surrounded by people who treated her subhuman for no good reason at all, and this was her outlet.

After reading a few other entries of music, Astoria put the notebook back on the small desk in the room. She wondered what her roommates were doing and thought it would be safe to go to the common room, but due to her increasing feeling of apathy, she decided against it. She lay back down on her bed and stared at her ceiling. Most of her celestial maps were drawn in black and white. Astoria thought that they should look more like the night sky than just a basic drawing, and she wondered what charm Professor Sinistra used to make the maps light up. Her thoughts were subsequently interrupted by frantic knocking at the door.

“Astoria! Astoria, are you awake in there?” came either Flora or Hestia’s voice. (Astoria could never differentiate the highness of Hestia’s voice that Rhiannon claimed to detect).

“Yes, yes,” said Astoria, crawling off the bed and reaching for the doorknob. One of the twins walked in. Astoria really wished she could tell them apart.

“Sorry, I forgot my key in the room!”

Which meant it was Hestia, since Flora never forgot anything.

“No trouble,” said Astoria.

Hestia plopped on her bed. “What’ve you been doing?”

“Reading,” said Astoria.

“Reading what? Homework?”

“Yikes, no. Rhiannon’s notebook.”

“Oooh! What did you see?”

“Well, I know she wants us to look at her stuff and add our own things in here, but it feels so personal sometimes… She had a poem, or maybe the beginning of a song… There’s no music, which is odd for her.”

“Oh, yeah that short one. I kind of had an idea for some music and more lyrics for this song, but I didn’t really want to say anything to Rhiannon,” said Hestia.

“You write music, too?”

“Yep. I’ve been playing the guitar and bass since age eight,” said Hestia grinning. “Magical ones, of course. I don’t know how to work the kind Rhiannon uses. I wish I could.”

“I swear I’m the only one who can’t play a cool instrument,” said Astoria, dispirited.

“Rhiannon would probably be happy to teach you,” said Hestia.

“Does that mean you _wouldn’t_ be?” Astoria asked jokingly.

“Correct,” said Hestia.

They whittled away the time drawing Draco as a ferret in Rhiannon’s notebook.


	5. The Champions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each chapter will come with a musical rec, and my [playlist (link)](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLkbEwOpb9udL8NQSwPCtzW_HAw_KqsKFy) will update along with the chapters.
> 
> Chapter Five - "Dear Diary" by Pink

Rhiannon appreciated the ferret doodles Astoria and Flora had made in her notebook, and it seemed to inspire her to write in it even more, although Astoria wished Rhiannon didn’t pick class time to do it. Sitting next to her whilst she wrote just about everything _except_ notes made Astoria feel guilty by association. She couldn’t bring herself to advise Rhiannon otherwise, though, because it was fascinating to read Rhiannon’s daily output after classes let out. More of the music was coupled with words in only a few days. A particular sore spot on the pages was Rhiannon’s relationship with her parents, but it was hard for Astoria to pick out the literal meaning from poetic verse, and she was far too shy to ask what she felt was not her business. Astoria had never appreciated her parents for simply being functional parents before she read some of the things in Rhiannon’s notebook.

For as concerning as some of the content was, Rhiannon was straightforward about sharing it and was upbeat about her creative process. She was about to take out the notebook at dinnertime to show the other girls her newest creation, but it was not in her bag. Astoria watched Rhiannon frantically dig past the same three textbooks to no avail.

“Did you leave it in the dorm?” Astoria asked.

“No, I didn’t leave it in the dorm!”

“Oh, maybe you left it under your chair in––”

“In D.A.D.A., yeah,” Rhiannon groaned.

“We can go get it after dinner is over,” Hestia suggested.

“No, we need to get it now before Moody reads it,” said Rhiannon.

“What difference does it make?” Flora said. “We read it all the time. I don’t think he’ll take issue with the ferret drawings, considering he’s the one who started it.”

“I-I dunno,” Rhiannon said brusquely. “There’s stuff about my parents in there. It’s just weird. Teachers look into your business and stuff and then they don’t wanna do anything, so they tell the other teachers, and… I dunno… If _someone else_ gets it, that’d be even worse…”

“Well, if it will make you feel better, we can go,” Hestia shrugged. “I’m finished with dinner.”

Astoria decided it would be less work to help Rhiannon than to try to convince her not to worry, so she, Hestia, and Rhiannon left dinner early to go back to the D.A.D.A. classroom. Flora stayed behind in her own little world, a world much warmer than the chilly hallways of the castle leading to the darkened classroom.

“There’s no other D.A.D.A. class after ours,” Astoria reassured, “so your notebook should be right where you left it.”

Astoria had spoken too soon. Not only was the notebook missing from her desk, it wasn’t on Moody’s desk, either. Hestia shut the door for privacy and lit more candles, and Astoria lit her wand. The only thing the added light did was make it more obvious that the notebook was gone. Astoria, knowing the personal content of the notebook and the awful risk of it falling into the wrong hands, quickly decided to Summon it.

“_Accio Rhiannon’s notebook_,” she said, not entirely sure of how to aim her wand.

Very little was accomplished by the spell, but Astoria liked to think her sheer determination had made the candles in the room flicker more. Rhiannon looked impassive, deep in thought of what was going to happen. She, Astoria, and Hestia stood in the darkening room dumbfounded.

“I had stuff about my family in there, y’know? And dumb poems and dumb songs and dumb music,” Rhiannon said.

“They’re not dumb at all,” Hestia interjected. “You’re very talented!”

“They’re dumb to the kind of people that would take me book,” Rhiannon returned. “Just like I’m dumb. If I get it back, it’s gonna have ‘mudblood’ written all over it and spit on the pages. Stupid arse school. _Accio_ _notebook_!”

All three girls started at the _thunk_ they heard, but it sounded very unlike a notebook hitting the walls and much more like a continual knock.

“Is that from the spell or…?” Hestia wondered.

“Oh! We shut the door, remember?” Astoria exclaimed.

She hurried to open it, aware of the risk of getting hit in the face by the notebook trying to get in. That was the only risk she accounted for, though, and when she opened the door to see a dark, wild-haired figure, she startled with a yelp.

“I know I look scary, Greengrass, but I don’t look scary enough to scream like that.”

It was “Mad-Eye” Moody, a moniker Astoria didn’t like to use out of respect, but it was surely appropriate now. His eye stood out in the evening dim, rolling weirdly at the whole room. It had been his wooden leg against the floor, not the notebook against the door, that Astoria had heard. Although, as his sleeves fell away from his arm, Astoria realised he had just what they needed.

“Oh!”

“Need this, right?” he said to Rhiannon, whose lips were firmly shut.

Astoria reached for the notebook, but Professor Moody delivered it right to Rhiannon.

“Don’t leave your belongings to the wolves like that,” he advised. “That Carter girl––”

“Did she see our stuff?” Hestia blurted even though it was clear Rhiannon wanted the whole conversation to end.

“_I’m talking_,” he shot at Hestia. “I’m trying to tell you lot she didn’t see anything. You can’t leave things like this out, Rhiannon. Teenagers are shits.”

Rhiannon didn’t utter an “I know” or “thanks” or even nod. Her hand trembled over the grip of the notebook.

“Thank you, Professor Moody. That’s all we needed. I’m sorry,” Astoria said, eyeing Hestia and ushering Rhiannon out of the situation.

They managed to leave in one piece, separate from the teacher.

“Well! I’m sure he liked our ferret drawings, right?” said Hestia, trying to lighten the mood.

Not only did Rhiannon fail to see the humour, she was hostile.

“I had stuff about my damn _parents_ in there.”

“I mean, it was mostly music, at least,” Hestia said, and Astoria quickly positioned herself to stop walking between them.

“Music’s worse, don’t you get it? I’m stupid! Some stupid kid that writes poems! Some weirdo!” Rhiannon shouted.

“You’re not a weirdo!” Hestia argued back. “And even if you were a weirdo, look at who’s read it! _Moody_! He’s the weirdest of all of us! What’s _he_ care?”

“Well, that’s the question, ain’t it? Teachers get real weird about stuff with your parents! I don’t need any more wizard letters showing up to my flat so my mum can burn it on my bed or start screaming or pull my hair out! God sakes! I didn’t want people to know!”

“Then why’d you _write_ it, huh?” Hestia challenged, having managed to upset herself. “You let me and Flora read it, and Astoria!”

“It’s the only way I can tell you!” Rhiannon said, visibly shaking. “It’s the only thing I can do!”

Astoria watched as Rhiannon and Hestia both fell into uncomfortable silence. Nobody really yelled like this at home, so it was strange to be on the fringe of the disagreement. It wasn’t that Astoria’s family didn’t get into arguments; it was that the subject matter and the anxiety behind the words was a new ugly. When they met back up, Flora tried to share a look with Astoria that Astoria didn’t want to share.

~

Monday was Hallowe’en and the day that the Champions for the Triwizard Tournament would be announced, so no one was in a completely bad mood. Even Professor Snape had a big, jolly-looking turnip on his desk, though he insisted that it was for a potion and not carving; however, Professor Sinistra seemed to treat every day like Hallowe'en now, and showed up to meals in all black, fixed herself a plate, and left without sitting down. Astoria didn't blame her; it was very crowded in the Great Hall, but she herself didn't mind because it meant Philippe was there. Classes were let out early, and the students entered the Great Hall around five-thirty. It was magnificently decorated with jack-o’-lanterns, bats, and autumn floral arrangements on the tables –– Astoria actually laughed when one of the decorative bats magically took flight. Yet all of the festive decorations were hardly important that evening compared to the impending announcement. The Hallowe’en feast was quiet, as the students only had the Tournament on their minds and finally ran out of gossip. Astoria was one of the few at her table to actually finish her food. Finally, most of the candles went out and it became time to announce the Champions. The Goblet of Fire shone brightly in the darkness as bluish flames changed to red and the first Champion was chosen.

“The Champion for Durmstrang will be Viktor Krum,” announced Professor Dumbledore.

Rhiannon clapped louder than her roommates. “Great guy, he is,” she said as he left their table and went into a chamber off the Great Hall.

“The Champion for Beauxbatons,” began the Headmaster as the Goblet’s fires turned red again and shot out another slip of parchment, “is Fleur Delacour.”

A beautiful girl with smooth, fair hair stood and walked into the chamber off of the Hall, and Rhiannon again clapped louder than her roommates. Flora had in fact brought a book to read which was hidden under the table, whilst Hestia was too enthralled with the whole situation to even clap. The Beauxbatons students did not take the announcement about Fleur as well as the Durmstrangs had regarding Viktor. Two girls cried, and Astoria saw Philippe lean back and groan.

“The Hogwarts Champion is Cedric Diggory!” Professor Dumbledore said happily, and the cheers from the Hufflepuffs were almost deafening as he rose from their table and went to the chamber.

Professor Dumbledore began speaking of the _three _Champions, but he was soon interrupted by the Goblet presenting him with a fourth. He took the parchment and looked at it silently for some time. Almost numbly, he announced that Harry Potter was the fourth Champion. No one clapped, but rather started standing up to get a glimpse of the Gryffindor table. Flora huffed and held onto her book tighter as people continuously bumped her to get a better glare in. Astoria uselessly stood up; there were two tables filled with taller people between the Gryffindors and Slytherins.

_Harry Potter_. She had heard that name before.

_Harry Potter_. What was it again? He lived through something…? Harry lived…?

Harry Potter! The boy who lived through the Killing Curse! Of course he would be a Champion, right? No, no, that wasn’t what the other students thought. Astoria heard so many voices at once that they merged to become unintelligible, but they were all clearly angry or shocked. She managed to see Harry Potter as he approached the Headmaster. Clearly, there must have been a mistake; he looked far too young. Astoria should have known he was only a class ahead, but she had not been told the “legend,” per se, of Harry Potter more than twice and scarcely heard the students of her House talk about him. But did she ever picture him differently! He had messy black hair and perfectly round glasses. Astoria always imagined him as a much taller boy who carried himself well, and more heroic, to say the least. However, he seemed just as shocked as the other students and was stumbling quite a bit. Then, like the other Champions, he went into the chamber off the Hall. Professor Dumbledore shook his head slightly. Astoria saw the judges rise from the staff table, all visibly frustrated.

“Please excuse us, students,” the Headmaster called, and they all disappeared into the chamber himself along with the Heads of House. The Great Hall exploded with chatter.

“I can’t believe it! He’s too young!” said Hestia.

“I bet he cheated!” shouted Parkinson.

“How is that even possible, though?” Tracey Davis considered. “Wasn’t there an Age Line?”

“Yes, but if anyone sneaked his way into the Tournament, it would definitely be Potter!” scoffed Draco.

“Piece of half-blood scum,” said Blaise Zabini.

Astoria couldn’t believe that someone so legendary would cheat. It was unsuitable, and like Tracey said, there was an Age Line to prevent underage students from entering. She wondered why so many people seemed to think poorly of him.

“Can’t he ever just keep to himself? Look, he’s got the whole school in a tumult now!” Draco said. He noticed that Astoria wasn’t joining in on the commotion, which was clearly bothering him.

“What an idiot, right?” he said, suddenly smiling as though the level of his anger was only a show. He looked as though he was almost glad Harry Potter was chosen, actually, since it caused students to dislike the famed wizard.

“I don’t know… he looked confused,” Astoria replied. “I mean, who really would be stupid enough to put his or her name in there at that age?”

“_He_ would,” said Draco. “Trust me.”

“It could have been an honest mistake, like a malfunction,” she said firmly. “My magic malfunctions, so I’m sure an unattended Age Line isn’t perfect. Maybe he just put his name in as a joke, thinking it wouldn’t work. You know people have been trying to test it this whole semester! I don’t know why everyone’s so upset. They can’t change what happened.”

“Yeah, but they can complain about it like drama queens,” Rhiannon chimed in. “Don’t you listen to Malfoy, Astoria. I met Harry. He’s real kind.”

“He’d be really nice to you since he knows you’re a Mudblood,” Draco snapped.

“He didn’t even know for sure!” Rhiannon shouted.

“_I_ knew you were Mud from the start!” Draco shouted.

“Like hell you did! You treated me like a human being before––” Rhiannon stopped her comeback suddenly.

“Go on, before _what_?” Draco asked menacingly, as though he already knew the answer.

Rhiannon fell quiet. She grabbed Astoria’s arm and scurried over with her to the other side of the table.

“What was that, Rhi?” Astoria asked. “What happened?”

“Now, y’know I wouldn’t’ve taken you over here if I wanted you to know what that was,” Rhiannon said.

From her seat, Astoria could see Hestia yelling at Draco. Flora jinxed her book to snap onto his fingers. He was ultimately overwhelmed and ended up sulking on his own. Seeing that Rhiannon had become gloomy, Astoria put the confidential matter behind.

“So, how do _you_ think Harry Potter was chosen?” Astoria asked.

“I have no clue,” Rhiannon said. “Could be what you said. Maybe it was fate or something.”

“I don’t believe in fate that much,” said Astoria.

“I don’t either,” said Rhiannon, “but I don’t want to over-think this. I trust Potter’ll make it through the Tournament if he has to. Either that or they won’t let him play. But you won’t believe some of the other stuff he’s done.”

“Really? Like what?” Astoria asked. She felt extremely left out not knowing much about this legendary wizard in her very own school.

“I heard he came face-to-face with You-Know-Who _again_,” Rhiannon said.

“_What_? How? Was he hurt? When was this?”

“I dunno. I think one of his old teachers had summoned You-Know-Who’s _spirit _or something, but that’s just hearsay. I would imagine he got hurt, yeah, but I don’t really know. But yeah, in my first year, he killed a basilisk. Last year I saw him use a Patronus charm at a Quidditch match. Professor Lupin taught him how to use it, you know,” Rhiannon stated.

“That’s fascinating! I’ve missed quite a bit…” Astoria said. “But if there were people trying to have séances with You-Know-Who, I guess I’m okay…”

“Well, the only thing worth being here for was the Dark Arts class last year. For the most part, school’s been dead awful for me.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Rhiannon.”

“Eh, whatever. It’s better than being with Jessica,” Rhiannon shrugged, but Astoria knew she was minimising her problems.

The chamber door then opened. The Beauxbatons Champion, Fleur, and Madame Maxime stepped out. Madame then announced to the students, “Dumbledore said to return to your common rooms.”

The students certainly did not exit the Great Hall of their own volition; they had to be herded like sheep by the rest of the staff.

“What I’d give to talk to Harry right now!” said Rhiannon. “Hope he’s not in trouble again.”

“So he _does _get into trouble, then?” Astoria questioned.

“Yup, quite a bit. But ninety-five percent of the trouble is necessary, see.”

Astoria wanted to meet Harry Potter for herself, although she wondered what the other five percent of unnecessary trouble he got into was about.

“When did you get a chance to talk to him?” Astoria asked.

“He’s in the hospital wing a lot,” Rhiannon giggled. “I saw him once there, but we talked at breakfast, too.”

“You visited him in the hospital?”

“No, I was there too.”

“What happened to you?”

“I got hurt, duh,” Rhiannon said.

“How?” Astoria asked party out of concern and partly out of inquisitiveness. She realised that she knew much less about Rhiannon than she thought she had.

“I don’t remember what for,” Rhiannon dismissed.

The Slytherin common room was unusually quiet when the girls arrived, even though the room was nearly full. Rhiannon walked to the centre of the room to grab two handfuls of sweets from one of the bowls placed on a side table as a Hallowe’en treat to the students.

“Wan’ som?” Rhiannon asked with her mouth full of caramel.

“Not right now,” said Astoria.

“I’ll have a chocolate frog, if there is one,” said Hestia.

“Yup,” said Rhiannon, dropping her sweets onto a small table and sorting through them for the chocolate.

“Do you know exactly what the Champions do in the Tournament?” Astoria asked.

“Eh, nah really. I think they’re doin’ ‘tass’ or sommin’ th’ tes’ ther ablilily.”

“Rhiannon, would you answer us when your mouth isn’t full?” said Flora edgily.

Rhiannon swallowed her solidified corn syrup.

“I’m not sure, but I think they’re doin’ things called ‘tasks’ that test their ability.”

“I could never do that; I’d probably trip over my own feet in the middle of a task,” said Hestia.

“I think I’d just freeze up and not be able to do anything,” said Astoria.

“I wouldn’t be interested even if I was of age,” remarked Flora. “It’s all silly. Men made it up, I’ll bet.”

“I’d probably end up getting eaten or something,” Rhiannon added.

“Yes, with all that sugar in your blood, I wouldn’t be surprised if you caught the fancy of something carnivorous,” said Flora.

Rhiannon grumbled.

A week later, Diane Carter, Parkinson’s very own miniature, strolled into Potions with her nose in the air and a badge on her chest that read “Support Cedric Diggory, the REAL Hogwarts Champion,” and then changed to “POTTER STINKS.”

“Like my badge, pig?” Carter said from her seat in the back of the room.

“Pig? Then what are you, Diane? A warthog?” Astoria fought.

It had taken some time, but Astoria learned how to be nasty when it called for it.

“Gosh, you’re so stupid. You know, you’re a _pig_ since you roll around in the _Mud_ all the time!” Carter mocked.

“How cute. A blood-traitor joke. I bet you weren’t clever enough to come up with that yourself. And if I’m the stupid one, explain the forty percent you got on your last test,” Astoria stated. She couldn’t wait for some Gryffindors to arrive; they would think Carter’s badge was ridiculous, too.

A few Gryffindors did come within a few minutes or so, bringing part of their lunches with them and munching hurriedly so they would finish it before the professor arrived and found them eating in the classroom. Astoria found their blunder, though; there were crumbs on the floor around them.

“You’re here early,” said Ginevra Weasley, noticing the crumbs and sweeping them under a nearby cabinet with a wave of her wand. “What about lunch?”

Astoria tried to think of a polite way to tell her that her House doesn’t spend all of the lunch period talking and playing with their food.

“I had a large breakfast,” Astoria settled on. “You’re early, too. What’s the rush?”

“To say the least, it’s pretty hectic up there,” said Ginny.

“I would imagine, especially for your table,” said Astoria.

“Yes, Harry keeps saying he didn’t enter his name in the Goblet, but no one believes him. Now look, that girl back there’s wearing one of those dumb badges, too,” Ginny huffed.

Carter looked up at Ginny, but stayed silent since she was now outnumbered.

“It would be very unlikely that he could get his name in there,” said Astoria.

“At least some of us believe him. That makes three, with Hermione,” said Ginny.

“Four,” said Rhiannon, walking into the room. She had a small dish in her hand filled with strawberries. In her other hand was another mysterious letter, which happened to be the fourth of the sort.

“Everyone’s eager to get out of the Great Hall?” Astoria asked.

“Everyone in their right mind is,” said Rhiannon, slipping the letter in her bag. “All this yelling still… about Harry Potter cheating and whatnot… I couldn’t even focus enough to chew! I thought it’d get better over time, but I think it’s got worse since last week. You seen the badges yet?”

“I did,” Astoria said with a nod towards Carter.

Astoria was very glad that she had missed the drama. She did not want to hear any more of Draco’s input on the situation. There were still about ten minutes before class started, and other students slowly began to populate the room. Even several of Astoria’s fellow Slytherins came early to escape the Great Hall, though she had to admit she did have a relatively friendly class.

When class started, Astoria noticed that there were only eleven Slytherins in her class wearing the badges. She made a mental note of who these students were to avoid giving them the benefit of the doubt in the future. Astoria was truly expecting Professor Snape to tell them to remove them, but he did not. She wondered how a teacher would put up with such immaturity, especially him. Perhaps he didn’t want to waste class time. That must have been it.

Dinner was something Astoria’s eagerly waited for. After History of Magic, she met up with Rhiannon and the others and headed for the Great Hall. It was one of those days when Astoria was embarrassed to sit at the Slytherin table. Despite the fact that the majority of the third-years lack an anti-Harry Potter badge, most of the other students had one. This hardly surprised her, but Daphne had thankfully chosen not to wear one. Daphne probably thought it was too gaudy a piece regardless of the rude message. Their cousins Ansel and Erez were too mature for that kind of thing.

_But why can’t Daphne be less rude herself_? Astoria thought. _And why, in the sake of Heaven and Earth, does Draco Malfoy always have to sit next to me_?

Parkinson was seated on the other side of him and had not yet glared at Astoria, but Astoria knew that Parkinson could snap at any second like a Venus fly trap. Astoria sat up straight and ate her food quickly, making no acknowledgement of Draco’s existence. She should have known by then that Draco took more notice when his presence was_ not_ recognised.

“Want a badge, Astoria? There are plenty more,” said Draco, searching his pocket for the one he was so ridiculously saving to offer her. Did he seriously think she, Astoria Greengrass, would say yes? His thought process was beyond her comprehension.

“Look at it, it’s glowing. You look childish with that on,” she said.

She only made eye contact for the amusement of seeing his bewildered facial expressions, which had really grown on her.

“What’s your problem?” he said, not finding much else in his brain to say.

“My problem is that not only is it stupid for of all of you to wear a badge that showy, but that I can see how that would be very hurtful to someone.”

Again, the bewildered expression.

“What, you think Potter got in there_ fairly_? I should have expected that from you.”

“I wouldn’t say fairly, but it simply doesn’t add up that he could get his name in the Goblet. If I was in his spot right now, with ‘Astoria stinks’ badges all around me, I wouldn’t be feeling so great. What if I was somehow picked? What if _you_ were somehow picked? You and I wouldn’t have had any more ability of getting our names in there than he would.”

Draco was silent for a moment. Could he actually be considering someone else’s opinion? Not likely, but that moment of silence was what Astoria was striving for since September.

“If you knew him better, you would know he put his name in,” Draco insisted.

“You know, those ‘Astoria stinks’ badges weren’t a bad idea!” said Parkinson.

“It’d look a bit awkward with two big round badges right on your chest, now, Parkinson,” said Rhiannon, grabbing her own chest unabashedly.

Parkinson immediately turned pink, a colour which looked very odd on her face.

No one was in a hurry to leave dinner since the Hall wasn’t as loud as it had reportedly been during lunch, excluding the noise of another raging storm outside. Rhiannon was poking her mashed potatoes and eyeing the chocolate cake that was only an arm’s length down the table.

“I wonder when we’re going to Hogsmeade,” Rhiannon sighed. “I heard there’s a sweet shop called Honeydukes…”

“I don’t know; the Tournament will probably interfere with trips this year,” said Flora.

“Yeah. Last year, everyone got to go round Hallowe’en. Maybe we’ll go before Christmas, then?” Rhiannon said.

“Hopefully. I haven’t been there since last spring,” said Astoria.

Rhiannon left her mashed potatoes on her plate and scooted out of her chair.

“I never been. See you in the common room?” she asked.

Astoria had wanted to talk to Philippe all day, but she lost some of her confidence about talking to him alone. Most of her latest conversations with him had been glued together by her cousin. Even still, Astoria knew that Philippe was probably the kindest young man she had ever met and wouldn’t mind her shyness. Still, Astoria agreed to go back to the common room after she finished her meal. Rhiannon walked across the Great Hall toward the dungeons, but Astoria saw her make a sharp turn and come trotting back to the table.

“What is it?” Astoria asked.

“Harry Potter’s sitting alone; didja want to go talk to him?” Rhiannon asked.

“Erm, sure,” said Astoria.

She finished her last two spoonfuls of corn, and joined Rhiannon on the journey to the Gryffindor table. Being a Slytherin, it seemed unthinkable to approach Gryffindor turf without any animosity. The rivalry between the two Houses was daft, but very noticeable. Sure, she talked to handfuls of Gryffindors in Potions, but standing in front of a _whole table_ of them? Astoria felt they might bite, then criticised herself for being so closed-minded when it came to meeting new people. There was Harry Potter himself sitting alone at the end of the Gryffindor table. Astoria never would have thought someone named Harry Potter would be sitting alone.

“Hullo, Harry. Haven’t talked to you in forever!” Rhiannon said cheerily to Harry Potter himself.

A few Gryffindors were watching Astoria and Rhiannon.

_It_’_s the green ties_, Astoria thought. _We stick out too much_._ This is awkward_.

“Oh, hi, Rhiannon. How’re you?” he said in a sort of preoccupied way. He appeared to have been deep in thought.

“Alright. I take it you’ve had an eventful year so far,” Rhiannon said sitting down at the table. Astoria thought she had better sit down, too.

“Yeah,” said Harry Potter. “Today we had pictures taken for the Tournament. I ended up right in the front in all of them.”

He sounded like he was sort of… miserable.

“I’m sure you enjoyed that,” Rhiannon said.

“Yes, definitely,” Harry said sarcastically.

His eyes met Astoria’s. It was clear there were a lot of things bothering him.

“This is my friend, Astoria Greengrass,” said Rhiannon, patting Astoria’s shoulder.

“Nice to meet you,” said Harry-Potter-himself, shaking her hand. She noticed his famed lightning-bolt scar, but only gave it a glance. It wasn’t polite to stare.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Harry,” Astoria stammered.

She had a lot of respect for him, even if he didn’t necessarily act like a “hero” as she thought he would.

“She doesn’t think you put your name in the Goblet,” said Rhiannon, which somehow eased some of the awkwardness.

“Oh, thanks,” he said to Astoria.

She imagined it must be extremely agitating for Harry to have very few believe him. Even those in his own House apparently thought he put his name in, since Ginny had only mentioned “four of us.”

“So do you know what’s going to happen in the Tournament yet?” Rhiannon asked.

“Not really,” he said. “We have to complete different obstacles called Tasks. We had our wands checked out for safety today. That’s about all I know.”

“You would think they would have told you more,” Astoria remarked after getting the courage to say something.

He nodded. “I wish they had. My friend Hermione could probably find a book on the Tournament, though.”

“By the time you’ve read it, the Tournament could have started already,” said Rhiannon. Where is Hermione anyway?”

“I think she’s in the hospital wing. Malfoy put a hex on her this morning,” he said.

“That stupid wan––”

“Rhiannon,” Astoria cut her short.

“Oh, I _really_ don’t mind what she calls Malfoy,” said Harry, and Rhiannon sniggered.

“Well, we best be going. Moody gave us a ruddy essay do to this weekend.”

“Okay,” said Harry. “See you.”

Rhiannon gave him a short wave and went down the staircase.

“Erm,” mumbled Astoria. “Be careful in the Tournament,” she said to Harry. She didn’t know exactly how quietly she said it. She really was concerned about the Champions. Having met Harry in person perhaps made the matter worse.

“Thanks. I’ll try,” said Harry Potter himself.


	6. Pariah

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this is where it becomes apparent I started writing this at age 14 - I am cleaning up Book 1 especially before posting, which is why it's taking so long since college eats your time. I wanted to focus especially on Astoria's public image not only as a Greengrass, but also as being part of that small group of Slytherins that believe in equality. Because I had always designed Rhiannon's character as using music as an outlet, 14-year-old me obviously went with the "let's start a band" plot. But I like to investigate the difficulties they have with it, the pressure placed on them because of their age, etc. Hopefully it doesn't leave a bad taste because they goof around with instruments.
> 
> And again, in the spirit of the music theme, each chapter will come with a musical rec, and my playlist will update along with the chapters.
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLkbEwOpb9udL8NQSwPCtzW_HAw_KqsKFy
> 
> Chapter Six - "Cherub Rock" by The Smashing Pumpkins

“Finally!” shouted Rhiannon. She was holding a flyer in her hand as she rushed into the dormitory. “Guess where we’re going this afternoon!”

“Hogs––?” mumbled Flora.

“Hogsmeade!” Rhiannon cheered.

“Who says?” asked Flora.

“This says! You really need to start gettin’ out of the dorm on the weekends,” said Rhiannon, handing the flyer to Flora.

“Where did you get this?” Astoria asked after being handed the flyer with the Hogsmeade trip announcement.

“It was hanging in the common room,” said Rhiannon.

“Don’t you think you should... put it back?”

“Oh, yeah––” said Rhiannon, and she bounded back out of the dorm.

Going to Hogsmeade had always been enjoyable for Astoria. The dozens of shops and quaint cottages all had lit candles in their windows and fluffy white smoke coming from their chimneys. Despite the large amount of students there, the village retained its peaceful quality, and the cold temperature made the hush more charming. The cold temperature was also telling Astoria to stop marvelling at the village and to go into a shop before the tips of her ears froze, and the hush was probably because no one in their right mind was standing outside. Astoria tucked her face into her scarf and went to look for Rhiannon, who had been running all over the village since they arrived, carrying hardly any money with her. Astoria suspected that Rhiannon would end up in the sweet shop eventually and headed there. Above the bay window that displayed the sugary treats inside, it read _Honeydukes_ in golden letters; Rhiannon had spoken of it before as though it was a legend.

A little bell chimed when Astoria entered the shop. There wasn't a spot in there left untouched by sugar. It was not the largest place, and it only took a minute for Astoria to determine that Rhiannon wasn’t there. She did see a familiar face, however. Montel Davis was trying to carry as many Sugar Quills as he could to the till. As soon as Astoria walked up to him, he handed a bushel of Sugar Quills to her.

“Sorry. Can you hold these for a minute?” he said, trying to place them all on the counter.

“Sure. Have you seen Rhiannon anywhere?” Astoria asked. “We split up. I thought she would be here.”

“She was here a bit ago. She was saying something about heading over to Dominic Maestro’s with the twins and Tracey.”

“Where is that?” Astoria asked.

“It’s the music shop down the road that way,” said Montel, tilting his head to one side. “I was heading there anyway, so you can follow me.”

Montel took the Sugar Quills back once his arms weren't full, spending at least half of his allowance on them in one sitting.

“Don’t you want anything here?” he asked Astoria, who was eyeing the trays of crystallised pineapple. She picked up a tin and fought to keep herself from buying the whole stock.

Montel and Astoria made their way through the cold on the cobblestone street. She didn’t think it was right for it to be so chilly without a single snowflake in sight, feeling that at least something pretty should come along with not being able to feel her toes. Dominic Maestro’s was located next to the shop that sold regular quills, to which Montel would certainly give no business. Astoria saw a variety of instruments displayed in the music shop’s windows; most of them were charmed to be played with no musician present. Inside, the whole place was noisy from the instruments, but they all seemed to coordinate with one another to play the same orchestration. Montel and Astoria walked up a spiral staircase to the second floor, where they found Rhiannon, Tracey, and Hestia speaking ardently to Flora in front of a drum kit.

“I can’t!” argued Flora.

“Of course you can –– you just won’t try!” said her sister.

“I’ve better things to do than play with drums all day,” Flora scoffed.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Montel broke in.

“They want me to learn how to play the drums,” said Flora, “as if I don’t have enough to worry about already.”

“Play the drums?” he asked. “What for?”

“They’re trying to start a band. A _band_ of all things! It’s absurd,” said Flora.

Astoria saw Rhiannon clench her fists, and her anger was almost contagious.

“Not everything’s absurd, Flora,” Rhiannon grumbled.

The wood floor creaked beneath Flora’s feet as she shifted her weight nervously. She looked at the price on the drum kit.

“Two-hundred and sixty Galleons,” she announced, “for the whole kit and equipment. Rhiannon, if you come up with two-hundred sixty Galleons, I will learn to play the drums.”

Rhiannon looked completely crushed by the weight of reality. She could not come up with one Galleon, much less two-hundred sixty. But Flora should have just left it at “no.” She had no right to insult Rhiannon like that.

“I’ll buy the drum kit,” said Astoria quickly, walking right up to Flora so that their shoes almost touched. “I’ll buy whatever she might need.”

The idea of Rhiannon starting a band did sound unrealistic, but it would be a great experience for her if it worked. Astoria would help Rhiannon follow her dream in any way she could. Money was definitely one way she could.

“I forgot, we have a toff in the dorm,” mumbled Flora cruelly.

Rhiannon, on the other hand, looked at Astoria like she was an angel and mouthed “Thank you.”

Astoria did feel slightly empty inside, though. Why hadn’t she been told about the plan? Hestia knew about it. Maybe it was because Hestia could play the guitar already… or maybe Rhiannon didn’t want Astoria involved her band.

“You said you’d learn. Are you just going to go back on your word now that we actually can get this?” Hestia asked.

“Fine, I’ll learn. But if I learn, I don't want people making fun of me. I’ll quit straight away.” Flora said stiffly.

“Way to go, Flora,” said Montel, patting her on the shoulder. She shrugged him off.

“You know what I’m thinking, Tracey? They are starting a band…” he said.

“I already told them,” said Tracey smiling.

“What?” asked Astoria.

“You know who our dad is?” Tracey asked.

“Mr Davis, I’m assuming,” said Astoria.

“Ha-ha, very funny. Our dad is the producer for the Weird Sisters.”

“We’re third-years, not third-time platinum-certified artists,” said Astoria.

“Let the woman speak, Astoria!” Rhiannon exclaimed.

“Dad’s worked at the Wizarding Wireless Network for ages,” said Tracey. “Myron Wagtail met my dad before starting the Weird Sisters. I’m going to talk to Dad about Rhiannon’s band since she said she needed some advice. I think it’s a great idea.”

Astoria had never seen Rhiannon smiling so brightly.

“You two are getting in Music class when we get back,” she instructed the twins.

Hestia smiled and nodded. Flora mumbled another one of her comments.

The cold air outside fed the excitement, and the large group bustled from building to building. There was no way to get everyone to agree on where to go, so they simply went everywhere. Astoria saw Draco making a show of buying people butterbeers when they were at the Three Broomsticks. He made eye contact with Astoria, who knew she may have been stupid enough to make a deposit on a drum kit but not stupid enough to buy overpriced butterbeers.

~

Astoria was absentmindedly twisting her hair round her finger, sitting on her bed in the dormitory. Flora had gone to the common room, and Rhiannon and Hestia were at the desk in the centre of the dorm, writing lyrics and music. Rhiannon noticed Astoria's gaze and lifted her head.

“Yeah?”

“Well, I was wondering if you would teach me how to play the guitar,” Astoria said weakly.

“Guitar? Er, it takes awhile.”

“Oh,” said Astoria.

She knew that that meant Rhiannon didn’t want to teach her. The other girls didn’t need her in the so-called band. They just needed her money.

“What’s your band called?” Astoria asked.

“Pariah,” said Hestia.

“Par–what?”

“A pariah is like a reject, like a person no one likes," said Rhiannon. “Hestia came up with the name. It’s also the name of this song we just finished. I think I want it to be our first official song.”

A first song, how nice. It would be played on the instruments Astoria was supposed to buy them. Speaking of rejects, Astoria felt very unwanted at the moment. Why would her friends leave her out of something like this? What were the real chances that they could make this band work anyway?

“When are you going to write a song?” Rhiannon asked.

“What?” Astoria asked.

“You write music, don’t you? You’re not just gonna sit there and do nothing the whole time, are you?”

“I, er… I thought you didn’t want me in the band…?” Astoria said.

“Why’d you think that? We’ll need a vocalist. My voice ain’t for singing,” Rhiannon explained. “I thought you took vocals or something. You sure sing in the shower enough.”

“And I’m not too comfortable with being the lead vocalist,” added Hestia.

“So can you sing? If you don’t wanna, that’s okay, but your voice is pretty, y’know. Speaking and singing.”

“I can try,” said Astoria. A great excitement was welling up inside her. They did need her after all, and not just for the money. Rhiannon probably assumed that Astoria had figured out that she was automatically in the band. Astoria, however, was a person who needed things to be said clearly.

“Let’s hear it, then. You don’t have to be amazing,” said Hestia.

“Well, you do have to sound better than me,” Rhiannon said with a laugh.

Astoria admitted, “I missed several vocal lessons so I could do more schoolwork.”

“Yeah? Let’s try something here…” Rhiannon said, going through her bag of cassette tapes. “I don’t know what your vocal range is, but we can try this one,” she said.

The cassette had small speakers where the Muggle cassettes had holes that fitted to the tape player. Rhiannon tapped her wand to the tape, and it played the songs recorded on it. A small amount of magic was used to turn the volume up and down. Astoria knew that Rhiannon greatly loved the wizard cassette tapes –– they played themselves.

“The one I want you to sing is track four,” said Rhiannon. “You’ll have to listen to it first.” She tapped her wand against it three more times, and the correct song began playing.

The guitar in the song had a warm quality to it; it made Astoria love the sound of the intro. The vocals in the song were beautiful –– she knew she wouldn’t be able to pull off the peaceful sound this singer’s voice had.

“What is this called?” Astoria asked.

“‘Anyone’ by Spellbound,” said Rhiannon. “You like it?”

“It’s a gorgeous song,” said Astoria, nodding.

“Yeah,” said Rhiannon. “When you sing it, you can skip the swearing if it's too much for you.”

She was wearing an impish grin, and she swirled her wand at the tape to make the song play two more times. Astoria then stood up and started to sing the song, indeed excluding the swear words. She knew she would never sound like this singer, but she had to focus on being comfortable. She sang the verses at a slightly higher pitch, for if she sang at the original one, it would sound like she was just talking at points. She faltered on the lyrics from time to time, but the other two girls had huge smiles on their faces. The good kind of smiles. Then there was a thirty second instrumental break in the song.

“It’s rather awkward just standing here when I’m not singing,” said Astoria.

“I agree. You look awkward,” laughed Rhiannon.

“I’ll be singing backing vocals, if that helps any,” said Hestia. “You can dance while we wait!”

“Oh dear, not now.”

Astoria waited out the instrumental without dancing and began to sing again. She found that it was easier to sing louder than Spellbound’s vocalist had. After the song ended, Astoria felt accomplished. She had sung in front of her friends without causing them to laugh their heads off. Hestia and Rhiannon gave her a small applause.

“That was lovely. So I’ll do the screaming,” Rhiannon said.

“Isn’t that unhealthy to scream so much? It isn’t really singing,” Astoria asked.

“Yeah, if you do it wrong. But maybe one day I’ll get that real raspy voice I’ve always wanted,” Rhiannon said cheerily. “Besides, it will only be on the angry songs.”

Astoria thought back to the content of the notebook. All of the music was driven with anger. The lyrics she did pen were similarly disturbed.

“What kinds of music will we write exactly?” Astoria asked.

“Whatever we feel like,” Rhiannon said. “You name it, providing that we have the talent.”

They did have talent, but Astoria differentiated between talent and skill. Skill took practice, practice took time, and time took age. Everyone in the dorm was thirteen or younger, and Astoria never pictured a band as having people her age. Still, Rhiannon was visibly excited. She was pulling on the bottom of her shirt and fidgeting a bit. “D’you wanna see what we have for our first?” she asked Astoria.

“Yes!”

Hestia picked up Rhiannon’s notebook and gave it to Astoria. It was opened to a page titled “The Pariah.”

“It’s like a protest song in a way,” Rhiannon said. “Probably won’t market too good, but that’s sort of the point. You’ll have to excuse my voice in this.”

When Astoria took the notebook and began reading it, she recognised that it was thematically similar to the four-line verse she had seen before and had discussed with Hestia. The lyrics were complete, albeit altered. Astoria thought it was a little intimidating.

You’re a creature in a zoo

With a pretty fur coat and a pedigree too

But confinement’s made you restless

So you bite our fingers when we don’t expect it

Crown your queen

With silver from the moon

A crown unseen

Means nothing to you

They found ways to hate me

I found they aren’t worth my time

If you scratch my skin and berate me

It’s your conscience there, not mine

You’ve created your own monster

When you pushed me right out of the line

Burn my body and wonder

Why the flames really make me shine

You’re a leech that’s hard to please

With no backbone, no eyes to see

Hunger striker, way too thin

You throw your life away again

So crown your queen

With gold from the sun

A crown unseen

Burned just for fun

They found ways to hate me

I found they aren’t worth my time

If you scar my skin and berate me

It’s your conscience there, not mine

You’ve created your own monster

When you pushed me right out of the line

Burn my blood and wonder

Why the flames really make me shine

Crown your pariah

With jewels from the heavens

Ignite this fire

And I will meet you there, my friend

“What do you think?” Rhiannon asked when Astoria gave her back the notebook.

“I like it,” said Astoria, though she could not picture herself with the power to sing it.

Rhiannon and Hestia were capable songwriters. Astoria felt that if she wrote a song, it wouldn’t be anything like theirs. She was afraid she could not do the song justice with her wimpy voice.

“You don’t know how much better I feel after getting that on paper,” Rhiannon chuckled.

“I can imagine,” said Astoria.

“Of course, if we ever record and release this, everyone in our House very well might hate us,” Rhiannon said, “unless they’re too thick to understand the lyrics.”

“Oh well,” said Hestia.

“That’s our band’s namesake anyway: outcast,” said Astoria.

“Damn right!” Rhiannon shouted.

Astoria wondered if her parents had got her letter about the drum kit yet.

~

The first day of the Triwizard Tournament had finally arrived. After lunch, the students met in the Great Hall before going outside to watch the First Task. There were tall wooden stands round an enclosed area on the grounds that the students filed in to. It was far too cold for Astoria, who refused to get hat-hair, so she was shivering terribly. There were plenty of places to sit, although apart from the very fractious-looking duo of Professors Snape and Sinistra, no one was doing much sitting. Rhiannon tagged along with Astoria to stand with the Beauxbatons students. The Beauxbatons had learnt their lesson in October and wore much warmer clothing. Astoria found Philippe with his scarf wrapped around his nose and his hands in his pockets.

“Hi, Astoria. Rhiannon.” His voice was muffled by the scarf. “I can’t wait to see what Fleur has in mind for this one,” he said.

“How do you mean?” Astoria asked.

But her question was interrupted. A whistle sounded, and Cedric Diggory, the Hufflepuff Champion, stepped out of the tent on the far side of the arena, only to come opposite to the horror that was being brought into the grounds by several burly-looking wizards. A greyish-blue dragon stalked forward. As the dragon keepers led it towards its nest, it gave an ear-splitting cry, accompanied with smoke from its mouth –– a warning. It was not the most graceful breed, since it only had hind legs and wings; as it walked toward Cedric, who was not looking so good at the moment, it was tipped forward, as if trying to smell him.

Cedric ran sideways, then forward toward the dragon’s nest. The creature immediately spewed fire at him, which Cedric barely missed. Astoria began to feel ill as she watched him practically fight for his life; she nearly froze, never cheering, never gasping. It felt wrong to stand here for amusement, like it was some milder version of a public execution. She merely watched in a dazed terror as Cedric used a spell to Transfigure a stone into a dog to distract the dragon. The monster went after the fake dog as Cedric made a dash for the nest and picked up a golden egg. But the dragon flicked its head around and spat flames at him before its tamers came, and Cedric was judged on performance mid-cook. Astoria saw him slowly walk toward a first-aid tent, holding the side of his face, head tipped down.

_My God_,_ he_’_s been burnt in the face_! Astoria thought.

“Did yeh see that? Did yeh see that! Amazing!” Rhiannon shouted. Her eyes were ablaze with enthusiasm, but the only enthusiasm Astoria could muster was enough to nod her head.

“Here comes Fleur,” said Philippe as the whistle blew once more.

The pretty blonde girl emerged from the tent, already aiming her wand at another dragon, though she seemed to be shaking slightly. This dragon had four full legs so it could crawl normally and had the scales of a sickly green colour. Its teeth looked horrible; they were prominent even with the creature’s mouth closed. Fleur cast a spell promptly, causing the dragon to drift off to sleep. It sort of slumped to the ground as Fleur hurried over to pick up the second golden egg. Just as she picked it up, the dragon let out a grunt, which was accompanied by a thin stream of flame from its mouth. It caught Fleur’s skirt, and she jumped, frightened, before she put out the fire with water from her wand.

“Well, that was simple enough,” said Rhiannon.

“Yes,” Astoria agreed. She certainly knew what she would do if she ever encountered a dragon: put it to sleep!

The crowd cheered upon the entry of Viktor Krum, who was to face a large maroon dragon. He cast a curse on the dragon, and it immediately shut its eyes and stumbled about. The dragon tripped and crushed some of the eggs in the nest, however, which caused points to be taken away from Viktor’s performance. Rhiannon wasn’t very thrilled about the judges’ decision and said some nasty words.

Then Harry Potter stepped out from the tent. He was the last one to perform, and the dragon he had looked to be the most dreadful of the four. It was a black dragon with a barbed tail and wings that bent down bizarrely at its elbows. The dragon’s entire head was covered with spikes of ivory. Harry wasted no time and used a Summoning Charm to retrieve his broom, but he just barely dodged the monster’s flames several times. Astoria’s stomach was in a knot. However thankful she was that she didn’t have to hear her fellow Slytherins’ input from her current seat, she was not thankful at all that she still had to be in the stands watching as Harry Potter and the other Champions tried to not get incinerated. Harry Potter performed the Task in the worst way he could. He was on his broom, flying left and right, up and down, and in circles round the dragon. He seemed to be tricking it into following him to get it away from its eggs, but Astoria was uneasy already and had to watch the spectacle through squinting eyes so as not to get dizzy. As the dragon let out its rage in flames, Harry missed another burn but was hit by one of the dragon’s spikes. Its tail had flung right into his side, wounding his arm. He didn’t give too much attention to it, and almost right after that, the dragon could no longer take his mockery and flew into the air after him. Harry flew down to the nest and scooped up the golden egg. The dragon keepers came to take back the beast, and the First Task was over at last. Cheers and applause erupted in the stands, and Astoria found herself shouting even louder than Rhiannon, albeit it was out of relief.

“That was worth standing in the cold,” said Philippe as the students walked back up the hill.

“It was incredible, but extremely scary,” said Astoria.

“They had wizards ready if there was an emergency,” Rhiannon reminded.

“Still…” mumbled Astoria.

They reached the school and the Beauxbatons started filing into the giant carriage in which they arrived. Astoria waited to say goodbye to Philippe as Rhiannon strolled off with Tracey Davis.

“What is it like in the carriage?” she asked.

“Hm, well, there is enough space. It’s much bigger on the inside than it looks it would be,” he said. “I think it would be better in the castle. And of course, Fleur never stops talking about the Tournament. She’s in the girls’ section, but when we hear them all gossiping, it is because of her.”

“I see. Erm, how are you taking classes?”

“Madame Maxime teaches us now because we have to keep up with the rest of the school who did not come. There are only ten of us, so that is not so bad, but we are not all in the same year, so it can be weird when lessons are only Zéphir, Madame, and me.”

“That does sound like it would be awkward,” Astoria chuckled. “I presume the Durmstrang students are doing the same.”

“Yes, probably. It would be much easier to take classes with your school, but our schedules are so different, so we cannot do that,” he said.

Astoria imagined how great it would be if they actually could. Philippe would be in her Astronomy class, and Draco wouldn’t bother Astoria nearly as much if she had Philippe’s company to look forward to three days a week. On the other hand, with Professor Sinistra acting so irritable lately, Astoria could not afford to have her performance in the class marred due to a distraction as relentless as Philippe. Writing cheesy lyrics about him became very easy for Astoria, but she could never bring herself to put them into the band’s notebook.


	7. The Yule Ball

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each chapter will come with a musical rec, and my [playlist (link)](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLkbEwOpb9udL8NQSwPCtzW_HAw_KqsKFy) will update along with the chapters.
> 
> Chapter Seven - "Thunder Clatter" by Wild Cub

December made the cold more tolerable simply because of the month’s wintry reputation. November, having a bleak but not quite snowy character, never compared to the spirited feeling of December. Professor Sinistra was not bothered by the snow, for she swept the sky round Hogwarts clear so that the students could see Aries from Astronomy Tower. Winter made most people gloomy, but as a clear introvert, Professor Sinistra seemed better now that not as many Triwizard judges were crowding the staff table in the Great Hall.

“Oh, there is Alpha Arietis!” said Professor Sinistra as though it was the very first time she had seen the star. “Alpha Arietis is the brightest star in Aries, followed by Beta Arietis and 41 Arietis. Alpha Arietis is actually larger than the Sun, though has a cooler temperature. Does everyone have their quadrant charts out? You _know_ we have another constellation to fill in.”

The students took out the gigantic sheet of graphed parchment she had given them in September. She had the students fill out the chart each time they covered a constellation in class, which would help them on their finals and, eventually, the Ordinary Wizarding Levels. The constellations were grouped by quadrants, which were divisions of the celestial sphere, or rather, the sky. The star charts made constellations easier to find, though could prove disastrous if one plotted them incorrectly at the beginning.

“Aries is located in North Quadrant One,” the professor said.

Astoria drew Aries in the row labelled “NQ1” on her parchment a little sloppily. For as sour as the professor had been since September, she seemed like a new person now. Astoria was distracted by her demeanour, and tried to glean some meaning from her face. Yet every time they made eye contact, Professor Sinistra gave her a look saying she needed to focus on class. 

The students had already covered some of the constellations in that quadrant including Cassiopeia, Andromeda, Pisces, and Triangulum –– the last of which Draco always called “Triangular” just to irritate Astoria. She was anticipating more noise from Draco whenever the class would begin lessons on Microscopium, Telescopium, Serpens, and, worst of all, Boötes. Astoria then remembered Lupus, which was also the name of a rash. She smiled at the thought of Rhiannon slipping up in Astronomy class and saying the name of her favourite teacher instead. This only led to further distracted thoughts, such as the terrible odds of someone with the last name of Lupin being struck with lycanthropy. Professor Sinistra gave her another look.

Astoria looked over at Tracey’s notes and felt better. For as distracted as she was, Astoria had about four rolls of parchment by the end of class, but most students only had two. She certainly looked like a serious student even if she wasn’t focused. Yet she knew she had trouble summarizing, and it made it more difficult to study the key material. There was too much information to gather from the professor and no way to condense anything coherently.

After class, the Slytherins and Hufflepuffs made their exhausting journeys back to the dungeons and the basement, respectively. Astronomy Tower and the underground levels were the two farthest points in the school, making for a long night. Tracey had quickly met up with Sally-Anne Perks, so Astoria had nobody to make the journey with. She gathered her belongings quickly, trying not to look pitiful.

“Hi,” came Daphne’s voice out of the swarm.

“Hi,” said Astoria.

It felt like ages since they had spoken to one another. After going down two floors in silence, the girls almost simultaneously said “I’m sorry.” They shared a forced, nervous laugh together, but it was better than no laugh at all. Still, it fixed nothing. Astoria knew Daphne would still go after Blaise, and as a consequence, would avoid her. Daphne knew (or at least should have known) Astoria wasn’t going to forget her friendship with Rhiannon and suddenly become a bigoted creep. So the girls did not say for what they were sorry, only that they were sorry about something, because the pain and embarrassment of saying exactly _what_ aloud was too great.

“I’ve got news,” said Daphne, trying to speak as though nothing had happened all semester.

“What is it?” Astoria asked, doing the same.

“The Triwizard Tournament is traditionally accompanied by a Christmas ball!” said Daphne happily.

The two girls had been raised attending parties, balls, and banquets, complete with dress codes and formalities of no practical use. Every year at Christmas, the girls’ parents held a large banquet for the entire family, and every March, the Vernal Equinox Feast brought in all of their father’s relatives. It was a life they were deeply attached to.

“So when is the ball?” Astoria asked.

“That’s the problem,” Daphne said. “It’s on Christmas day.”

“Oh, Maman and Dad won’t let us go,” said Astoria dimly.

“I hate to say this, Astoria, but you can’t go regardless of Maman and Daddy. It’s only for fourth-years and up unless someone older asks you.”

Astoria didn’t think too long and hard about the fourth-year boys before deciding it wasn’t worth it. Her family’s Christmas banquet was quire elaborate, and she always had fun. But Daphne was awfully squirmy.

“I sent a letter home,” she said, “asking them if I could go to the Yule Ball. If I can’t, I might have to turn someone down,” Daphne said.

Of course, Daphne automatically assumed all the boys would be begging her to go.

“But if I can, then I’ll miss our banquet!”

“You’ll have fun either way,” Astoria said, trying to relieve her sister’s tension, even though her sister rarely tried to relieve hers.

“I’m certain I will!” said Daphne. “You know, when the school sent a letter saying I had to get dress robes, I wasn’t expecting this at all. I only brought some silly little things! I forgot to write and tell Maman that I need a new dress if I can go to the ball…”

“Perhaps it’s better to ask once you know that you can attend,” said Astoria.

“Hm, that’s true. I think I want a violet dress. My birthday’s dress was pink, and _last_ Christmas’s dress was silver… and then at that party Daddy had for his co-workers, I had a teal dress…”

“Violet sounds good.”

“I know! It really does!” squeaked Daphne.

The sisters walked together all the way back to the common room, with the rift and the connection between them ever present. Astoria’s longing to go to the ball had been smaller before Daphne waxed poetic about it. But the moment Daphne indicated that she might try to win the eye of a Beauxbatons boy if Blaise wasn’t going, Astoria’s heart pounded. She had not even considered that the other schools’ students would be coming, although it seemed obvious. And Philippe was a fourth-year student! If he would ask Astoria, she could go…

Not that he actually would…

Not that he would even think about it, really…

When Astoria brought it up to her friends the next afternoon, Rhiannon was rife with indifference.

“Yule Ball?” said Rhiannon listlessly. “Sounds like a rum go.”

“Oh, you don’t have the slightest interest in going, dear?” Astoria pressured.

But the look on Rhiannon’s face gave Astoria the answer.

“What the hell would I do at a ball?” Rhiannon grumbled. “Sit around in some old rags of mine or dance with some bloke who was dumb enough to ask me? Really, Astoria. No one in Slytherin would go with me, and everyone else in the school only knows me as being ‘Slytherin’s Blot.’ Third years can’t go, anyway.”

“What if someone _does_ ask you, then?” Flora asked.

“Let’s hope not. Like I said, I’ve got no business there, and no one would ask me. And I wouldn’t want no one to.”

“I thought it might be fun. Or something different, at the very least,” Astoria said.

“Euueruueurueuuuerehhggh,” groaned Rhiannon dramatically.

“Well, I didn’t mean to make you upset,” Astoria shrugged. “I just thought it’d be fun.”

“No, not about the ball,” Rhiannon corrected. “Defence Against the Dreadful Auror is next.”

Hestia and Flora giggled. Rhiannon’s stubborn attitude in the class did provide some amusement for the other students. And even with her marks dropping and the occasional snide remark heard by Professor Moody, she managed to stay at the borderline between “worthy of detention” and “bothersome.” That is, of course, until that day.

The professor was giving one of his usual “things to watch out for” lectures. They covered how to recognise certain Dark objects, most of which were obvious. (Anything with blood on it, Astoria would avoid regardless). They also briefly covered some information on certain species that appeared to be human but were in truth sinister, a category which included things such as vampires and, yes, werewolves.

“Most werewolves are unemployed due to the werewolf regulation at the Ministry. Furthermore, if a werewolf cannot find a victim to kill, it will hurt itself in frustration. You will notice that werewolves are covered in their own self-inflicted scars. Better him than you, of course.”

Rhiannon said neither quietly nor loudly, “That’s discrimination. They’re fine the rest of the month.”

“Would you like to teach this class, Miss Clarke?” Professor Moody said impatiently.

“I think I would,” she said frankly.

“Don’t use that tone with your professors, Rhiannon. Twenty points from Slytherin. Your attitude needs to stop.”

“I was being no more sarcastic than you were –– asking me if I wanted to teach!” she argued.

Astoria sat stiffly in her seat. She had made a tacit bind at the beginning of the year which forced her to sit next to Rhiannon in every class she had with her. And that was all well, except in _this_ particular class. Moody always called on Rhiannon when she wasn’t paying attention and hovered over her writing exercises (and therefore Astoria’s). Now Rhiannon was smartmouthing as though it would end well. Moody’s anger, thankfully, was almost never explosive, and he simply got grumblier than he usually was.

“See me after class,” he said simply, and although Astoria felt badly for Rhiannon, she was glad the confrontation was over. Much later, Rhiannon later revealed to her friends that she had detention with Professor Moody until the last day of term, the sixteenth of December.

“That’s five days,” said Flora. “Stop being dramatic.”

“I’m not being dramatic,” said Rhiannon.

“Ooh, but aye ’ave det-in-shin _until the end of tum_!” said Flora, imitating Rhiannon’s deep, Cockney voice very rudely. “It’s only four days now since you already served your time today.”

“Be quiet, Flora,” said Hestia. “Moody doesn’t seem like the kind to let loose on the detention. I’ve had it with Flitwick once last year, remember? He only had me sweep the classroom floor. Try to compare those teachers.”

“I never get detention, so I don’t have to compare anything,” Flora said.

Astoria wondered why Flora was so cold and dissimilar from her twin sister. Rhiannon ignored Flora’s remarks the same way she tried to ignore bullies, and it was a shame that she had to do that even amongst supposed friends.

“I had to start on this five page essay on the dangers of werewolves. It was originally three pages, but he said I write too large and made it five, the bloody old––” Rhiannon complained.

“Well, it was best to get in trouble toward the end of term. He could’ve had you in detention for a month if you did something earlier this year. You only have to write one page a day, if you think about it,” said Astoria.

“Euueruueurueuuuerehhggh,” Rhiannon groaned.

In no time at all, Diane Carter had blurted to Parkinson that Rhiannon had detention, as it was her duty to make sure everyone knew. Over the next few days, boys would howl at Rhiannon in the hall like a wolf, whilst the girls gave her those terrible looks of disdain. Rhiannon never minded little things like this, though.

“How’s your werewolf report coming?” Astoria whispered after D.A.D.A.

“Eh, I just write what he wants to read,” Rhiannon replied. “One more page to go…”

“Really? You’re ahead. What is he going to make you do when you finish?”

Rhiannon shrugged.

“Maybe polish his eye, who knows.”

The bell rang, and all the students hurried out of the room whilst Rhiannon remained in her chair, habitually rocking it back and forth in the cracks in the floor.

“Good luck,” said Astoria.

“Good luck with your big blister,” Rhiannon said as though Daphne was much worse than detention.

Daphne, as it turned out, was allowed to stay at school for the ball if she had a partner, and was constantly flirting with the boys, which embarrassed Astoria tremendously. She didn’t like being _seen _with Astoria, but lately was buzzing about her in private, telling her about the timbre of each boy’s voice. In fact, she had been using Astoria’s time away from Rhiannon to do this. So in a sense, they both had detention.

Astoria was in the midst of one of Daphne’s descriptions about a boy’s budding peach fuzz when Rhiannon was freed from detention, which had taken a turn for the worse. It turned out that Moody had no other task lined up for Rhiannon after she finished her essay, and she wasn’t allowed to do anything else.

“Now I have to just sit there!” she exclaimed. “It’s terrible! We just sit there in silence and he makes old man noises! And I tried to strike up some sort of chat, and he goes, ‘You’re in detention!’”

Astoria and Daphne were both struck with giggles at Rhiannon’s distress at hearing old man noises, but Astoria did try to take her seriously.

“Is there any spell you know of that will keep your eyes open when you sleep? Then you could nap the whole time!”

“I don’t know… Even if there was a spell that kept my eyes open, I’d still snore!” Rhiannon lamented.

Rhiannon complained each evening about all of her rejected requests to do homework, clean the classroom, and even write _another_ essay. Moody never permitted any other activity in the detention period and repeatedly met her attempts at conversation with a dead stare. She was utterly miserable until she had served her sentence.

At last, the Great Hall was ready for Christmas, with tinsel-covered garland hanging across the entirety of the snowy enchanted ceiling and an even dozen of Christmas trees along each of the walls. Candles floated all about, and some even spun around as the flames stayed completely refined. Christmas was Astoria’s favourite holiday, though she still wasn’t sure if having Daphne away from home would be good or bad.

“Hi, everyone!” said Tracey, squeezing between Vincent Crabbe and Sally-Anne Perks on the other side of the table.

“Guess who just got asked to the Yule Ball?” Tracey sang.

“That’s great, Tracey! Who asked you?” Sally-Anne asked.

“Maxwell Lazenby,” Tracey sang again. Sally-Anne giggled.

“Who’s that?” asked Astoria.

“The dish over there,” said Tracey, titling her head down the table.

“Don’t scare him off,” Draco sniggered.

“Grow up, Draco. He doesn’t care,” Tracey said.

Draco made the face in which he scrunched his nose, one of his favourite pouts. In fact, it was hard for Astoria to picture Draco in her head without that expression.

“I wish I could go!” whined Hestia.

“You know, you can ask someone, Hestia,” said Flora, “if you want to go that badly.”

“I never said I wanted to go_ with_ someone. I just want to go!” Hestia moaned.

Flora and Rhiannon had absolutely no interest in the ball whatsoever.

“Ball or no ball, I’m staying for Christmas,” said Rhiannon. “And I’ll get to hear all of the upperclassmen having a grand old time at that party.”

“My mother would hate it if I stayed here for Christmas,” Draco interrupted. “Wouldn’t yours?”

“No. She hates it when I come home for Christmas,” said Rhiannon seriously.

“That’s a real shame,” Draco said snidely.

“Yes it is, actually,” said Rhiannon.

She wasn’t giving Draco the reaction he wanted. Even though it had clearly been Draco’s idea to tell Rhiannon her Muggle parents didn’t want her home for Christmas, he hadn’t counted on it being _true_. But his decision to lay off of her wasn’t genuine guilt; Astoria didn’t think he had ever learnt what guilt was.

“Tracey, come here!”

The voices came from Daphne and Parkinson. They were in a heated discussion about something that was probably of little importance, as they tended to be.

“Ugh, they’ve been asking me about _how_ to get a date ever since Max asked me to the ball. I keep telling them I have no strategy, but they think I’m lying!” Tracey said. She picked up her plate and took a seat next to them.

“Everyone’s making such a big deal out of this,” said Flora. “Your sister and Parkinson could go alone anyway. They’re fourth-years.”

“Well, my sister can’t. My parents always have a banquet at Christmas. They won’t let her stay unless someone asks her to the ball.”

“Pity,” said Flora.

Astoria had a feeling that not many people liked her sister very well.

“So if Daphne had someone ask her, she wouldn’t have to go to the banquet?” Draco asked.

“That’s what I _just_ said, Draco. Why don’t _you_ ask her so I can have a peaceful Christmas at home?” Astoria suggested.

“Daphne? No! She insults me once a week,” Draco said.

_Daphne_’_s doing _something_ right_,_ then_, Astoria thought.

“I doubt if someone asked _you_, Astoria?” he brought up rudely.

“No, I haven’t been asked, Draco. Thank you for pointing that out,” she said.

“You’re welcome,” he said, grinning.

“Who are you going with, then?” Astoria interrogated.

“No one yet,” Draco mumbled.

“He’s going with his mum, you know,” Rhiannon whispered in Astoria’s ear. “Only way she’ll let him stay for Christmas.”

Draco knew that Rhiannon had whispered about him, but he had no clue what she had said. Only moments after the golden plates had vanished from the tables, Astoria heard someone say her name. She looked in that direction, saw her cousin Zéphir grinning widely at her from the Ravenclaw table, and then noticed that Philippe was standing just to the side of her.

“Hello, Philippe” she said.

“Hello. You weren’t at our table today,” he said gently, then looked at Draco.

“Oh, I’m sorry. One of my friends, Tracey, had something to tell us at first. Erm. She’s gone now. I could, erm…”

“No, it’s okay. We go back to the carriage soon. How was your day, Astoria?”

For as often as Philippe and Astoria exchanged titbits of their day over the conversational glue Zéphir provided, Astoria could not think of a single word to give him.

“Erm. I, erm, good. How was yours?”

“Good,” Philippe said.

He was still looking at Malfoy, who had begun to return the stare. Then Philippe pulled a fast one no boy at Hogwarts would have the guts to do.

“Are you going to the Yule Ball with him?” Philippe asked.

“What? I –– what? Him? I? I mean, no?” Astoria stammered.

“I thought I heard him ask you a minute ago.”

“You should get your hearing checked,” Malfoy snorted, his own ears turning pink.

“No, erm, Draco was reminding me that no one has asked me.”

“That’s unkind,” said Philippe.

“Oh, nice to see you learnt English, Pierre,” Malfoy snorted again.

“Just ignore him,” Astoria said quickly and shot Draco a nasty glare. Philippe caught on to Draco’s idiocy; it was very easy to figure out. He then hesitated, standing there, looking at Draco with distrust.

“Voulez-vous venir au bal avec moi?” he asked.

Astoria was stunned. She was not anticipating someone asking her to go to the Yule Ball, let alone her first –– and only –– preference, Philippe. Since Daphne could go if she had a partner, certainly Astoria would be able to. If her parents said no to her though, it could be a disaster. She had to say yes. This was a once-in-a-lifetime chance, and Philippe was so very pretty.

Oh dear, how long had she been staring at him?

“_Oui_!” she exclaimed.

Philippe smiled, “Great.”

When he walked back to the Ravenclaw table, Astoria saw that some of his friends were patting him on the back and shouting ornery things at him, and a warm, confident feeling had taken the better of her. Malfoy had no rude comment ready and finished his dessert in silence as Astoria’s friends put their noses in her business in his place.

Astronomy was the last class Astoria had in the term, and though other kids were pleased when Professor Sinistra gave them a free class, Astoria was hoping for a lecture to take her mind off of the Yule Ball. Earlier, she and Daphne had Twinkles deliver a letter home asking if Astoria could also stay at Hogwarts for the Yule Ball. They asked their mother to send them dresses to wear, since they had nothing with them that they deemed appropriate. Many girls would have been happy to wear one of the Greengrasses’ “regular” dresses to the Yule Ball, something Daphne failed to appreciate.

Astoria was very anxious for a reply. She was hoping with all of her might that Twinkles would arrive in time and had tried to let the owl know the importance of speed. Astoria usually had to wait about three days for a letter from her parents, but the train home left in two days. Her roommates had very different reactions when she told them Philippe had invited her. Flora merely gave a grunt, Hestia started whining again about not being able to go, and Rhiannon seemed quite happy since she might not have to spend Christmas alone in the dormitory. Between his sulking and the journey to Astronomy, Malfoy been pestering Astoria to tell him what “the Frenchy” had said. Certainly, Malfoy wasn’t that thick-headed. Couldn’t he figure it out? It was likely that he just wanted to hear it from her to craft mean jokes.

Astoria was doodling constellations on a piece of parchment when Malfoy so politely kicked her chair. She slowly looked over her shoulder, trying to keep herself from saying something nasty to him.

“You messed up my Sagittarius,” she said. “You owe me a piece of parchment.”

He laughed, but Astoria was very serious. Her look let him know it.

“All right, all right,” he said. He tossed a roll of parchment to her as a peace offering. “You have a bad temper.”

“You have a bad habit of making it worse,” she said.

“The Mudwallower has a point,” Blaise said.

“And you,” she said to Blaise, “stop calling me names like that. It’s been over three months since I got here. Get over yourself.”

Blaise looked at her disgustedly, as though _he_ was permitted to speak of _her_, yet she was not to talk to him. Had Daphne not fancied Blaise so much, Astoria would have never told him that calmly, and would have said some of the most terrible things. Rhiannon had taught Astoria plenty of nasty words over the last semester, but Astoria would never swear unless a situation like this came up. One way or another, Daphne had managed to get a date with Blaise just after dinner, and had been chattering about it to Parkinson wherever they went. But Astoria gave Blaise the harshest look she could muster, which put her mind at partial ease.

“What did Pierre say to you?” Draco asked.

“He said you look funny when you scrunch your nose,” Astoria said.

“He did not,” Draco said. “I heard ‘_moi_.’ He was talking about himself.”

“Draco, go bother someone else.” Astoria said.

Surprisingly, he stood up to do just that after Parkinson waved him over to her table, and Blaise left soon thereafter to go flirt with Daphne. Tracey and Sally-Anne were at a table with Max Lazenby, and Astoria found more entertainment in people-watching than in trying to pretend she fit in with the older students. She was sadly distracted by the way the fourth-year girls looked compared to her and began to wonder why Philippe would ask _her_ when he had plenty of shapely girls to choose from. It was probably her money.

Astoria tried to talk herself out of thoughts like that. It wasn’t like her money was going to be available to him at the Yule Ball. Maybe she had charmed him somehow in spite of her small frame and baby face. Philippe was always so nice to her, like it was coming from the heart, and her thoughts clouded with his face. The only thing that brought her out of the trance was when she realised the professor was gone from her desk. Exactly how_ free_ was this free period?

Astoria looked toward the stair and saw Professor Sinistra’s tall figure leaning against the doorframe. There was another figure by her that happened to be Professor Snape. Astoria didn’t think much of it, since the two professors could often be found side by side. Astoria rarely paid much attention to the teachers’ personal lives at Hogwarts, but one thing she had noticed was that Professor Snape and Professor Sinistra’s friendship was marked by proximity far over conversation. They could rarely be found talking, so she wondered what Snape would climb all the way up here to tell her.

Then it got weirder. Astoria watched the pair nod at each other and gesture ever so gently, but they never talked. At least over her shoulder, Astoria could not see either of them speak. Could they be sharing some inside joke that they didn’t want to say aloud? No, Professor Snape had no sense of humour, so that couldn’t be it. Astoria wondered if it was stranger that the teachers were staring at each other or that she was watching them. They were a couple decades too old to be amused by staring contests, so the only explanation Astoria could come up with was that they were together.

That explanation only served to frustrate her curiosity more. Professor Sinistra was occasionally made fun of by students for her name, with “Sinister Sinistra” and “Spinster Sinistra” being the most popular. Surely, Snape of all people wasn’t the kind to change the sinister _or_ the spinster part. Professor Sinistra was too pretty and kind-hearted for him. Astoria almost felt the need to interrupt whatever it was they were doing in the doorframe, but they finished their interaction soon after and made some actual small talk. Then Professor Snape left. The whole thing was too peculiar for Astoria explain to her friends.

~

On Sunday morning, Draco Malfoy would find out exactly what Philippe had asked Astoria if he truly did not know. The Greengrasses had deliveries to their table at breakfast, which was just in time for Astoria, who had been anxious to prepare for the Yule Ball ever since getting her parents’ permission to stay. Twinkles handled both Daphne and Astoria’s packages like the ambitious little joy she was. Astoria gave Twinkles a few kippers as a treat for being such a fast flyer, which made the owl fluff her feathers in delight. When Daphne and Astoria went back to the common room, they opened their parcels at the same table. Their seventh-year cousin, Ansel Greengrass, quickly joined them with a box of her own. The three girls each had an extravagant gown, brand new for the fashion season, and far more extravagant than the gowns other girls in their House had brought. About forty girls all crowded round the Greengrasses, desperate to get a glimpse of the dresses, both in awe and envy. Astoria quickly became uncomfortable under all the eyes, but in looking away from the girls, she saw Malfoy leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. He had no interest in the dresses, but knew Astoria’s dress meant she had a date to the ball. He was sure to spread horrible rumours about accordingly, and Astoria gritted her teeth. What if Malfoy said something to Philippe behind her back?

Daphne and Ansel proudly held up their dresses and obstructed Astoria’s view of Malfoy. Daphne’s gown had a violet bodice made of velvet with frills sewn round the top and beneath the bust. The skirt was white with godets and black lace at the bottom. It was accompanied by a black satin and lace wrap that was tailored diagonally and gathered at the hip. Astoria could see that their parents included new jewellery, a petticoat, and a pair of heels in the box, along with two rolls of parchment’s worth of a letter to her sister. Ansel’s dress was gold, and had a kaleidoscopic design on the bodice made from strings of pink gems. The skirt was free-flowing and became translucent farther down. Her dress came with an embroidered head ornament with the same pink gems and a pair of lace-up heels.

Astoria wanted to keep her gown out of view. She had no idea what these dresses cost. She only knew that they were straight out of the designer’s book, and that the other girls would certainly have bought them if they could afford them. It would be conceited to show off something that they couldn’t have. She hurriedly tucked it back into the box it came in, only seeing that it was pale blue and had its own share of lace. Then Parkinson started mocking her, no doubt eager to impress Malfoy.

“Look, Astoria’s hiding hers!” Parkinson squealed. “I bet her dress is ugly and cheap! Do your parents know you’re a blood-traitor and they wanted to give you a suitable dress?”

“Why don’t you crawl back into the hole you came out of, you little rodent?” Ansel chirped. “If you don’t shut up, I’ll be happy to put you there myself!”

Parkinson looked mortified, and Daphne hid behind her dress to avoid sticking up for either her friend or cousin. At that instant, Astoria lifted up her dress with no penitence of pride. The freshening of the startled look on Parkinson’s face made it worth the trouble.

Astoria’s dress was just as beautiful as the other Greengrasses’. Daphne and Astoria’s mother had apparently taken Astoria’s love of traditional ball gowns into account. The dress had lace the colour of light wisteria surrounding the top of the bodice and providing an off-the-shoulder neckline. There were small, silver, faux roses on either side of the hip that held together the purplish sheer fabric that fell in the front and made up the bustle on the back of the dress. The bodice and the base of the skirt were powder blue. Astoria had new heels and jewellery in the box as well, along with silvery elbow-length gloves.

“Ugly and cheap enough for you, Parkinson?” Astoria said.

Whispers all across the room overpowered the sounds of Parkinson’s swearing. Astoria had finally managed to make Parkinson walk away defeated with the help of her much more aggressive cousin. Not to mention, a very long thank-you letter was due to her parents.

“So Pierre did ask you to the ball,” Draco said as Astoria gathered her parcel.

“Wasn’t that nice of him?” Astoria said.

“I bet you’re happy,” he scoffed.

“Yes, I am,” she said calmly.

Draco stood there, trying to think of something insulting to say. Astoria had at last mastered the art of not encouraging Draco to bully her, treating his comments that were intended to be rude as regular conversation.

“I’ll see you later,” Astoria said, heading to her dorm.

He merely snorted.

~

“Happy Christmas!” Rhiannon’s yelled at some outrageous hour in the morning. “_Jingle bells, Hagrid smells_, _Astoria’s a nerd_! Wake up! _If you keep on sleeping, then you are a big turd!_”

Astoria rolled off the bed languidly and fell to her knees on that accursed floor with thin carpeting.

“Hap Crizmus,” she mumbled.

After shaking off the sleep, Astoria was very grateful that Hestia and Flora went home. Since Rhiannon never bothered with a saga of makeup like them, Astoria would have the bathroom all to herself in the morning, and later for the ball.

“Did you know that the Weird Sisters are performing tonight at the ball‽” Rhiannon yelped as she stood in the bathroom doorway whilst Astoria began her battle against her hair.

“No, I didn’t know that. That’s neat,” she said. “Are they your favourite band?”

“Not my favourite, no. But they’re one of the bands I like, and Tracey’s dad is their producer! You won’t believe how much easier a producer’s job is for wizards! I had no idea!”

“Well, I have no idea how difficult Muggle producers have it.”

“They work until they drop. But isn’t it great? Wizards don’t really have to mix any of their songs and records! Their recording devices do it for them with magic! I’ve been looking into it a lot lately… You know…”

“Yes. Well, they would use _magic_, you know… being wizards…” Astoria said.

“I know! It’s great!” Rhiannon replied goofily.

Breakfast was not for some time, so Rhiannon began working on writing music for more songs. Astoria really wished that it was closer to sunrise.

“I thought I’d get you something for Christmas,” Rhiannon said in a low tone. “Erm, I didn’t really have much money, you know, but I found this in Dominic Maestro’s and I thought I’d get it for you with some of my Ministry allowance...”

She reached under her bed and pulled out a small box, no bigger than her hand. It was covered in crinkled wrapping paper. It was adorable.

“Er, I’m not too good with gift-wrapping charms,” Rhiannon said.

Astoria was never expecting a gift for Christmas. To think that Rhiannon, being so poor, would get her a present… It was one of the most generous things anyone had ever done for Astoria. She gave Rhiannon a hug before even opening the gift. The idea of it was enough.

“I couldn’t have your family buying all this musical equipment for me and not get you somethin’,” Rhiannon said meekly. “Go on, open it.”

It was a small Wizard Wireless, a magically-powered radio. When Astoria opened the box, it floated right out and began to play the Wizarding Wireless Network News.

“_The Weird Sisters are scheduled to play at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry tonight at 8 P.M. for the Yule Ball_._ Triwizard Tournament Champions Fleur Delacour_,_ Cedric Diggory_,_ Viktor Krum_,_ and Harry Potter will be attending the ball and opening the dance_.”

“Thank you, Rhiannon!”

“Eh, it’s nothing. But whenever we get our music out there, we can listen to them on this wireless until we’re blue in the face!”

“That sounds lovely,” said Astoria.

She was just barely joking. However unrealistic, it did sound wonderful, save for the blue in the face part.

“My presents to you are the instruments,” Astoria said, taking the letter from her parents out of the box her gown came in. She had not revealed to Rhiannon that when she sent her parents a letter about the ball, she also informed them that her dear friend was planning to start a “band” and needed some help. The Greengrasses were just full of help –– the letter nearly made Rhiannon cry tears of joy. Within the letter it said:

_Your mother and I will place the order for the musical equipment and instruments from Dominic Maestro_’_s after Christmas_._ You may pick up your order any time after the next term starts_.

“You really are the best, Astoria!” Rhiannon yelped. “Did you ask them if they could get Hestia a new bass as well?”

“Yes, I did.”

“This is totally amazing!”

In spite of how happy Rhiannon was, it almost didn’t feel like Astoria hadn’t done enough. After all, the gift was technically from her parents and not her. Astoria would have to come up with better gift ideas next Christmas.

At breakfast, Rhiannon received a letter that folded itself to make a paper snowflake when she finished reading it.

“Did you see that?” Rhiannon said, holding her snowflake up to Astoria. “I want to learn that charm!”

“Yes, it’s delightful! I’ve never seen it before.”

What Astoria did see was that there were many more students at school than she expected, though most of them were upperclassmen. Astoria had a feeling that she was the youngest one in the building; she would turn thirteen on the sixteenth of January. But no one needed to know that, especially Philippe, who probably believed her to have been thirteen for at least several months. It was a good thing her mother had taught her and her sister how to act like mature young ladies, as opposed to acting like the hyperactive, giggling second-year girls Astoria saw in the halls. If she had been put into her second year as planned, she probably would not have assimilated very well. Not that she was getting on well this way, either…

Astoria saw Philippe at the Ravenclaw table at lunch; he was not sitting so far away from her, but talking to him at this point was impossible. Astoria felt that she would certainly say something stupid and thought it would be best to wait until the ball. She might be more relaxed after having all day to fuss. It was only around six o’clock when Astoria went to get ready. Rhiannon was pacing round the dormitory since she had not much else to do as Astoria primped.

“That’s an awfully pretty dress,” Rhiannon said, touching the sheer fabric.

“Thank you,” said Astoria. She was trying to use a large banana clip on the back of her head to hold the tops of her curls up higher. It was quite simple, actually, but she kept aiming it wrong.

“When does the ball end?” Rhiannon asked.

“Midnight, I believe,” said Astoria.

“What do you s’pose I do when you’re there for four hours?”

“Read? Sleep? Listen to music? Write more songs?”

“Eh, this is no fun,” Rhiannon said. “Maybe I should’ve asked your cousin to take me to the ball. You’ll have to tell me all about it, okay?”

“I will,” Astoria said.

At last, her hair was perfect, so she put on her dress and accessories.

“Would you come to the common room with me?”

“Sure! I’d like to see what everyone’s wearing.”

The two girls walked out of the dormitory practically arm in arm, one in a ball gown and one in track pants. The common room was full of students who were all much taller than Astoria, even with her heels. She had never seen the room look quite as lively as it was then; the “haunted” look of the common room wasn’t even noticeable.

“Hi, Astoria! Rhiannon!” called Tracey. She was wearing peach, slim-fitting robes with gems sewn into the skirt and standing next to Maxwell Lazenby, her dance partner.

“Loving the pants, Rhi,” she smiled.

“I know, they’re top-of-the-line,” Rhiannon said, posing with her hand on her hip.

“You look lovely, Astoria. Who are you going with again?” Tracey asked.

“Philippe Boisvert from Beauxbatons,” Astoria said.

“Ooooh, a French boy!” Tracey said. “Well, we’re all going to start up in about ten minutes or so and take the other Houses by storm.”

“Sounds like a good plan if I ever heard one,” said Max. “Overwhelm the entrance so no one else can get in without seeing _us_. We’re very important, you see.”

“Clearly. By the way, have you seen my sister?” Astoria asked.

Daphne wouldn’t be speaking with her tonight since she was with Blaise, but Astoria thought she would at least say “hello” or “have fun.”

“Er… Oh! She’s over there,” said Tracey, straightening herself up to try to see over the seventh-year guys.

Astoria saw her standing near Blaise. Daphne looked much older; perhaps it was all of the extra make-up. She was speaking with Parkinson –– _oh gosh_,_ was that_ _really Parkinson_?

To see why Astoria was staring, Rhiannon turned and then howled with laughter. There was Pansy Parkinson, _genuinely smiling_, wearing a dress that was very, very frilly and very, very pink. Pink frills and ruffles looked extremely unfitting on Parkinson. Astoria thought that a barbarian’s costume complete with a club would be more suitable.

“Would you look at that‽” Rhiannon bawled. “Parkinson doesn’t look so tough now! This image’ll be stuck in my mind forever.”

“Yeah, she’s been messing with that dress for hours. I told her, it’s fine, but she thought that the frills needed ‘adjustment.’ Honestly, how can you adjust a _whole dress _of frills?” Tracey said. “She should have never bought it in the first place if she was unhappy with it.”

“No, no. It’s good that she bought it,” Rhiannon said, still chuckling.

The students started up to the Great Hall, and Astoria had to part with her best friend. All at once, she felt insecure. She was the youngest one in the whole group of Slytherins, and kept noticing girls staring at her dress with jealousy. They all had pretty dresses, too, but that wasn’t the point. Maybe it was the gloves. She thought about taking the gloves off since none of the other girls looked to have any, but she did not have anywhere decent to put them and had to keep them on.

“Malfoy looks like a vampire,” Max Lazenby noted.

“He does, doesn’t he? He’s practically wearing a cape, and his paleness doesn’t help much,” Tracey said. “Pansy’d better watch her neck, or Draco-la will get her.”

Parkinson and Draco were at the front of the group. He did look like a vampire, and Parkinson looked to be under a hypnotic trance. It was a sickening sight to see her holding onto his arm like that. Of course Draco ended up asking her, even though she was cutting off his arm’s circulation. She pretty much worshipped him and was probably one of the few girls who wouldn’t turn him down. Astoria tidied the wrinkles out of her long gloves and stood up straight.

The Gryffindors apparently had a similar strategy in mind of coming all at once. About ninety of them came down the staircase, all staring at the kids in the rival House. Why did Parkinson have to be in the front with her embarrassment of a dress? Then again, there was some pitiful Gryffindor fellow with torn dress robes standing next to Harry Potter. Astoria was curious as to how he managed to tear up his robes like that; it almost looked intentional.

When the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students entered through the front doors, Astoria scuttled over to find her partner. She saw him wave and went to stand by him.

“Hello, Astoria” he said.

“H-Hi,” she gasped. There was a knot in her stomach and a stiffness in her chest that prevented her from breathing properly.

Everyone except the Champions and their dance partners filed into the Great Hall and sat down at round tables. There were five other couples at Astoria’s table, but she knew no one, and they were all much older. She felt more out of place than she had already, and tried not to look down at her feet.

The Champions and their partners began to process into the Hall. Astoria saw Harry Potter with a pretty girl in a pink sari, Fleur Delacour with a mesmerised young man, Cedric Diggory with the pretty Ravenclaw girl Astoria saw in the hallways a few times, and Viktor Krum with a girl with perfect hair. Astoria didn’t like seeing how well the older girls’ dresses fit them. She arched her back in frustration and hoped Philippe wouldn’t analyse how small her chest was.

“We get to pick what to eat now?” Philippe asked. “About time.”

Astoria noticed that people were simply saying what they wanted to eat. Philippe looked down at his plate and said, “truite au vin jaune.” Astoria did the same. Their food instantly appeared on their plates. It wasn’t something Draco would have ordered: the trout was definitely “staring.”

After the meal, the Champions opened the dance. The Weird Sisters stood on a stage that recently appeared and were playing a sad, slow tune. Astoria did not think it was in much good taste to open a festivity with such a bittersweet song; it spoke of “final” dances when clearly this was the first dance of the night. Astoria certainly hoped that this would not be her last chance to be with Philippe, as the Weird Sisters kept claiming that it _would_ be in their lyrics. Yet with their messy hair and tattered clothing, they did not look much like a group of broken-hearted crooners; they looked like the sort of crowd Rhiannon would find herself with. Philippe held out his hand when the other students started dancing after the Champions. Astoria took it, and they began to dance, though it wasn’t long before the back of her foot was stepped on. She turned her head to see a round-faced young man with large eyes dancing with Ginny Weasley.

“Sorry,” the boy said quickly.

“That’s okay,” Astoria said and smiled at Ginny. Ginny tilted her head a bit and gave a nervous smile back.

“You have been to things like this before?” Philippe asked Astoria.

“Yes,” she said. She had been to many things like this before and had danced with many people, yet something was different about dancing with someone she fancied. She was having a great time already, but breathing normally was still on her list of things to do.

“I am not a very good dancer,” Philippe joked. “I thought this would be more of a contredanse.”

“You are a good dancer. I thought it would be more organised, too.” she said. Making sure Ginny and her partner were farther away, Astoria said, “But _you’re_ not stepping on my feet, are you?”

“No, I must be okay then,” he said, his laugh and smile unbearably attractive.

Coincidentally, Astoria’s feet were trampled for a second time. Expecting it to be Ginny’s partner again, Astoria glanced only out of impulse, but instead she saw Professor Sinistra dancing with Professor Moody. It was a strange sight, though seeing her with Snape would not have been any less strange.

“A-Astoria, dear, so sorry,” Professor Sinistra stammered, readjusting the bottom of her red-violet dress.

“It’s quite all right,” Astoria replied quickly. There was absolutely no need for the professor to apologise, for her dancing partner’s wooden leg explained everything.

“Well, _I’m_ definitely a decent dancer now,” Philippe whispered.

Yes, it would have been nice if Rhiannon was somewhere in the room and if Astoria wasn’t the youngest person there. Yes, it would have been nice to be at home with her family and be at the banquet, but six of her relatives were, in fact, present at the Yule Ball. And yes, it would be absolutely wonderful if Parkinson tripped on her own dress robes, but since she was not very experienced with ballroom dancing, that possibility still stood.

Nonetheless, Astoria did not feel nervous any longer. Being with someone who actually thought she was worthwhile had already made the night unforgettable. Everything about Phillipe’s little jokes and comments and the exact way his smile creased his cheek warmed Astoria’s chilly night. The Weird Sisters began to play a rock song, though, and since neither Philippe nor Astoria was quite comfortable with fast dancing, they went to get drinks. Daphne was standing next to the table with the drinks, holding a butterbeer tight in her hands.

“Hello, Daphne,” Astoria said, getting a butterbeer of her own. “Philippe, this is my sister, Daphne.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” he said.

“Enchantée,” Daphne said without looking him in the eye. “Have you seen Tracey?”

“Not since we sat down for the feast,” Astoria said.

“Oh, just great,” mumbled Daphne.

“Would you excuse us for a few minutes?” Astoria asked Philippe. Something was definitely bothering her sister.

Astoria was grateful that Philippe was so mellow. He went to talk to Zéphir, who was getting butterbeers for three girls at once. Astoria wondered if her cousin had one single partner for the ball, or purely a clump of girls who fancied him. It appeared that her other cousin, Asenath the Gryffindor, was doing much the same thing, almost strikingly parallel to Zéphir, and with a similar amount of success. Money would do that.

“What’s the matter with you?” Astoria asked Daphne after rolling her eyes at her cousins.

Daphne looked up from her mug of butterbeer. She had a very fretful look on her face.

“It’s nothing,” Daphne lied.

“Something’s wrong,” Astoria said gently.

Daphne grew teary-eyed. “Some Muggle-born girl from Hufflepuff bumped into us when we were dancing. Blaise got all angry, you know, and he just stopped dancing right there. He called the kid a ‘damn Mudblood’ and made her cry, and made this stupid _scene_… I said, ‘Well, what did you do that for?’ and he just gave me this weird look and left. I don’t know where he went.”

Astoria always had a terrible feeling about Blaise. He was going to ruin Daphne’s day at some point, and this was it.

“Don’t pay attention to him! Daphne, really, here…” Astoria grabbed a few serviettes off the refreshment table and handed them to her sister to wipe her tears. Daphne dried her eyes slowly and carefully so as not to smudge her make-up.

“Is my mascara running?” Daphne sniffled.

“No, it isn’t.”

“Maman and Daddy would have wanted me to come home if they knew this would happen,” she sighed.

There was a loud applause, and another slow song began to play. Daphne became angry.

“If Blaise comes back, I’ll hit him, I will!” she yelled.

Her roommates walked over to the girls, having noticed a problem. Parkinson looked irritated, but came nonetheless. Max Lazenby and Draco stood back a distance, probably trying to avoid “girl problems.”

“Daphne, what’s wrong?” Sally-Anne asked earnestly.

“Are you okay?” Parkinson asked. She shot Astoria a mean look, as though _she_ had made her sister upset.

“Blaise went and left me,” Daphne squawked. She had started crying again, tilting her head craftily as the tears fell to try to prevent her make-up from running.

“That little––” Millicent said.

“You know, I don’t feel so well,” Daphne said. “I think I’ll go back to the dorm.”

Sally-Anne looked at Tracey, who gave her a sad look and a shrug. Daphne headed for the staircase, in spite of her roommates all looking disappointed. It didn’t make much sense to Astoria that she would leave just because she didn’t have a dance partner anymore. She was old enough to be at the dance alone. But Daphne was Daphne, and her pride had been hurt.

Parkinson ran over to Draco and said something hurriedly. He looked taken aback by what she said, but nodded and caught up with Daphne.

“Daphne, you can dance with me. Take your mind off of it. You don’t have to go back to your dorm. This isn’t musical chairs.”

It was the kindest thing Astoria had ever seen Draco Malfoy do.

Daphne stared at him like he was speaking Aramaic. She looked over at Parkinson, who must have been somewhere between happiness and rabies. Parkinson nodded slowly.

“All right,” Daphne said. “I guess… I don’t need him…”

Astoria saw her sister cheer up slowly but surely as Draco made fun of everyone’s outfits with her. It made Astoria happier, too, and she caught herself smiling at Parkinson. Parkinson didn’t say anything rude. She didn’t say anything nice, either, but there was an odd peace between the girls at that moment. To think that Parkinson had given up her precious Draco for a few dances for Daphne’s sake! That, at least, was something Astoria respected. She went to dance with Philippe again.

“Is your sister okay?” he asked.

“Yes, I think so,” said Astoria. Daphne and Draco were making faces at each other as they danced, but they were more humorous than spiteful.

“She’s at slight risk of a vampire bite, though,” Astoria said, watching Draco’s cape swish.

“What?” Philippe asked.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” smiled Astoria.

Astoria and Philippe ended up dancing to the faster songs as well, and by the time midnight came, Astoria’s legs were completely fatigued. When the last song ended, her voice still had enough energy to cheer with the rest of the crowd. She couldn’t wait to see Rhiannon and tell her all that had happened.

When Philippe had to leave to go back to the cold carriage, Astoria gave him a hug and a daring kiss on the cheek. It might have been slightly awkward, but she didn’t care. He didn’t appear to mind at all, and nothing was going to bother Astoria then. She walked back down to the dungeons with Daphne, who didn’t care that Astoria was a blood-traitor tonight, because she had been a bit of one, too.

Students lingered in the common room, not wanting to believe that the night was over. Tracey and Max were still dancing round the room, even without music. Rhiannon hurried down the staircase to hear all about the ball. She wouldn’t believe the bit about Parkinson, Draco, and Daphne at first, saying that Astoria must have had way too much butterbeer.

“I only had two butterbeers, though! Oh, hold on a minute, Rhi,” Astoria said.

This was going to be difficult, but it had to be done. Astoria approached Draco and Parkinson, making sure that Daphne was out of earshot.

“Thank you both for cheering up my sister. She can be sensitive,” Astoria said determinedly.

“I know, and there’s no use in letting her cry all night,” Parkinson said, trying to make it not sound like a big deal. Astoria knew it was.

“Yes, well––” Astoria stuttered.

“Happy Christmas,” Draco said.

“Yeah, happy Christmas, Greengrass,” Parkinson murmured.

“You, too,” Astoria said.

Parkinson didn’t look nearly as troll-like anymore, and when Draco smiled, one would never guess he could be a little hellion. Astoria had a difficult time getting rid of her own huge smile, which caused Rhiannon to reiterate her stance that Astoria was full of butterbeer.


	8. The Fright

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each chapter will come with a musical rec, and my [playlist (link)](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLkbEwOpb9udL8NQSwPCtzW_HAw_KqsKFy) will update along with the chapters.
> 
> Chapter Eight - "The Man Who Sold the World" as performed by Nirvana (cover of David Bowie)

On the fourteenth of January, two days before Astoria’s birthday, the students had another Hogsmeade trip. Rhiannon had barely slept on the Friday night before, being far too excited about picking up the instruments from the music shop. As a result, the other girls had restless sleep, but Flora was probably the grumpiest.

“My drum lessons better have been worthwhile,” she griped.

Since her so-called “drum lessons” had been free as part of signing her up for Music class on Sundays, the other girls chose to ignore her attitude.

“We’re here to pick up an order,” Astoria said to the woman at the counter inside Dominic Maestro’s.

“Last name?” asked the clerk.

“Greengrass,” said Astoria.

“Estelle?”

“That’s my mother,” Astoria asserted.

“Sign here,” said the clerk, handing Astoria a quill. Rhiannon jittered impatiently as Astoria wrote her name in neat cursive.

The clerk had the shop assistants retrieve the instruments and equipment from the back room. Flora’s drum kit was divided in boxes, and Hestia’s bass guitar was safe in its leather case. Hestia took out her wand, and Flora and Rhiannon did the same. The girls had eleven boxes to carry all the way to the castle.

“_Locomotor box_,” Hestia said, aiming her wand at one of the large boxes. The box rose in the air. Rhiannon and Flora each picked up a small box under one arm and used the same charm to each move a larger box. Astoria followed their lead, but her box rose almost comedically higher than the other ones. There were still four boxes left to get, but the girls couldn’t carry any more. Luckily, they saw Sally-Anne Perkins outside, and acquired her help. They all walked to the Great Hall, careful not to lose focus and drop the floating boxes to the floor. Moving things would be so much easier once they learned Shrinking Charms…

“Where do you suppose we put these?” Astoria asked.

“We can only play them in the music room, so…” Rhiannon said.

Flora huffed. “All the way up there?”

“If you were going to use the school’s crummy old drum kit anyway, why did I buy you a new one of your own?” Astoria argued. “We’re not going to let it stay in the boxes.”

After the girls set the boxes down in the classroom, they thanked Sally-Anne and hurried back down the staircase to return to Hogsmeade.

“What do you want for your birthday, Astoria?” Hestia asked. “I’m not good with guessing.”

“I don’t really want anything,” Astoria said. She couldn’t think of much that she might want; she already had many of the things she would have liked as a birthday gift.

“Sure you don’t,” Hestia countered.

“I really don’t. I can’t think of anything,” Astoria insisted. She had never received presents from anyone but family before –– with this being her first group of friends, that was a gift enough.

“All right, all right. You’re getting something stupid then,” Hestia laughed, and ran off to go find some bauble to get Astoria. Flora went in another direction, a façade of coolness but a tricky smile on her face. Rhiannon stood in the slush, looking a bit nervous. Her hands were in the pockets of her robes.

“I don’t need anything for my birthday except your company,” Astoria instructed.

Rhiannon nodded quickly. “You know I would get you stuff if I could, right?”

“I know,” Astoria said. “Do you want to go to the Three Broomsticks?”

“Nah, it smells funny in there most of the time,” Rhiannon said.

“Honeydukes?”

“I’m skint,” Rhiannon said, turning her empty pockets inside-out.

Astoria wasn’t sure of what to say. Rhiannon simply couldn’t stay in the castle when other kids went to Hogsmeade on weekends because of her lack of money. Yet Astoria knew Rhiannon probably would feel uncomfortable letting her pay for everything. No matter how much Astoria reassured her, Rhiannon couldn’t seem to get the guilt over Astoria’s birthday off of her face.

“Why don’t we go back to the castle and get the drum kit set up?” Astoria asked.

“Yeah!” said Rhiannon happily.

After nearly an hour of tedious work and about eighty swears from Rhiannon, Flora’s drum kit was ready to play. It sat in the back corner of the classroom next to Hestia’s bass.

“This looks really high-quality,” Rhiannon commented. “Let’s see Hestia’s.” She took the deep-red bass guitar out of its case and squinted at the emblem.

“_Maestro_’s a good brand, I’m assuming? The drum kit is the same brand as the guitar.”

“I believe it is the only brand of modern instruments they sell there, Rhi.”

Rhiannon played it for a minute to test it.

“Ha! This is great,” Rhiannon said joyfully. She really enjoyed the feeling of magical instruments. She put Hestia’s guitar back in the case, though she was still examining it. She took out her wand and pointed it at the guitar. Astoria was slightly concerned about her handling –– she knew that it wasn’t a cheap item.

“_Colovaria __perpetuus_,” Rhiannon said.

The guitar’s colour instantly changed to bright green.

“Hestia’s favourite colour,” Rhiannon mentioned. “She didn’t even look at her new bass yet, the scatterbrain.”

In the common room, Hestia and Flora returned from Hogsmeade with gift bags. Flora had thoughtfully bought Astoria a book on the moons of Saturn, whereas Hestia bought her a book about alien invasions. Astoria thanked them both. She would be putting her nose right into the Saturn book, but even the alien book was something she could treasure in a strange way.

Astoria’s actual birthday was on a Monday, which was, just as anyone else’s, her least favourite day of the week. It didn’t feel much like a birthday at all; if it wasn’t for the handful of “happy birthday’s,” a beautiful necklace from her parents, and the fact that she was born on that day thirteen years ago, it really wouldn’t be. This was her first year at Hogwarts, and since her birthday was during the school year, she couldn’t have much of a celebration. She was beginning to get homesick again, but did not want to tell anyone for fear that it would make her sound childish. Going to school had been a drastic change for Astoria, since she went from seeing her parents every day to not seeing her parents for five months so far. She did write to them often, but it really was not the same as seeing them. Even though she was glad that she was able to stay at school and go to the ball this year, she wouldn’t want to do it repeatedly.

Later in the week, Rhiannon told the other three girls that on Sundays after music class, Professor Flitwick gave permission to use the classroom for practice. Astoria was hit with the terrible reality of the fact that she starting a band as the singer. What would she sound like to other people? She had to admit her voice was not very strong. Deep inside, she wondered if the other girls really did need her in the band. Even deeper, she couldn’t determine whether she actually wanted to be in it or if she just wanted to feel included.

The next Sunday came, and the four girls were in a cleared spot of the music room. Flora was stretching her arms, and Astoria drowned more than half of a bottle of water. Hestia apparently noticed Astoria picking at her fingernails, because she told Astoria not to worry, since it was only the four of them. It didn’t help to hear that, though. It wouldn’t _always_ be the four of them. Astoria had a bad feeling that she should have sung more often lately than just when she was in the shower. There was an awkward hush amongst the girls. Flora was sitting behind her drum kit, having only a couple of months’ worth of experience. Hestia was standing with her bass strapped on, and Rhiannon was settling herself in a chair, the preventable cord streaming behind her. She utterly refused to let Astoria buy her a new guitar run by magic, despite how much easier it would be. Astoria figured that Rhiannon’s reasoning behind that was that firstly, she loved her guitar, and secondly, she had spent an awful lot of time learning the obsolete spells to work a Muggle guitar with magic. Astoria also suspected that Rhiannon felt proud to have wires in her apparatus.

“What do you lot want to play to warm up with?” Rhiannon asked.

“Something easy,” said Flora. “This is our first official practice together.”

“Okay, let’s just do that intro thing then?” Rhiannon suggested. “We should all know that by heart. We do that just about every Sunday before music class.”

Astoria was not needed at the moment; this song was only about a minute and had no words. Rhiannon had originally wanted it to be the musical introduction to “The Pariah,” but thought best to make it separate so she could sell “The Pariah” as a shorter single when the time came. Flora always got good exercise with this intro –– it was just about driven by the drums completely “to build tension,” as Rhiannon had said.

Listening to the three play the intro to “The Pariah” reminded Astoria that she carelessly forgot to bring her music sheet with the lyrics to that song. Actually, she forgot to bring all of her music, and she was far from having the lyrics memorised. Hestia and Rhiannon had five songs written already. Rhiannon mentioned making demos for those songs to give to Tracey’s father at a later time. Astoria had no idea how Tracey’s father would feel about that, but she didn’t want to discourage Rhiannon. Astoria stood up quickly from her seat, and Rhiannon abruptly stopped playing her guitar. A weird feedback sound came out of her amplifiers that made Flora flinch.

“Ruddy old thing,” Rhiannon muttered. “What’s wrong?”

“I forgot to bring my lyrics,” said Astoria.

“Do you really need them?” Hestia asked.

“I wasn’t the one who wrote the songs,” Astoria replied.

“All right, all right. We’ll see you later, I guess,” Rhiannon said. She knew going to get them in the dungeons wasn’t something one could do quickly from the fifth floor.

Astoria started down the stairs. The castle felt extremely empty on Sundays in the wintertime, since most students stayed in the common rooms. She really hoped that she wouldn’t run into Mr Filch, the caretaker of Hogwarts or his trusty feline, Mrs Norris. Astoria never got into trouble with him, but the girls said he liked tormenting the students even when they didn’t do anything wrong. She did, however, run into Professor Snape once she reached the dungeons. He didn’t look very pleased to see a lone wandering student, but then again, he never looked pleased with anything. He stopped right in front of her so that walking around him would be slightly difficult in the thin corridor.

“What are you looking for?” he demanded.

“I–I was going back to my dorm to get my, my music sheets, sir,” Astoria stuttered.

“Sunday music class is over,” he replied with a heavily suspicious tone.

“Yes, I’m in a –– well, a band, Professor, and I forgot my lyrics in the dorm.”

“You’re in a _band_, Miss Greengrass?” he said disrespectfully.

“Yes. I’m, er, singing,” Astoria said.

Professor Snape still did not look happy with that explanation. “And who is in this, erm, _band_?”

“Rhiannon, and Hestia, and Flora,” Astoria answered.

“Conveniently all of the girls in your dormitory?”

“Yes… Rhiannon plays guitar, Hestia plays bass, and Flora’s learnt to play the drums.”

The professor stepped out of the way.

“Miss Greengrass, I have no reason not to believe you, but do a better job of not looking so suspicious next time.”

“Thank you, sir,” Astoria said, having absolutely no idea how to make herself look any less criminal than she was already.

Professor Snape strode toward his office, and Astoria continued through the dungeons to get to the common room.

“Eidolon,” Astoria said to the stone wall that blocked the entrance to the common room. The stone began to shift backwards until there was an opening. Astoria stepped through it and down the steps into the noise of the common room. She squeezed through a group of fifth-year girls and went back up the small flight of steps on the opposite side.

Room 102… room 104… room 106. She got out her key, which ironically had a skull on the top yet could only open one door, and let herself into her dorm. Her papers were luckily right on her bed. She had been nearly a half an hour already, so she hurried out of the corridor and back down to the common room. A mistake on her part –– she always needed to keep her actions low-key. It was as though Draco Malfoy was on a constant vigil to find anything out of the ordinary about which he could comment. The same suspicious manner that had caught Professor Snape’s attention had also summoned Malfoy.

“Why are you running?” he asked her after she had nearly bumped into him.

“Because I have seven flights of stairs to go up,” she declared, still walking. It wasn’t until she reached the steps to go out of the common room that she noticed he was walking with her.

“I didn’t know you had Ancient Runes on Sundays,” he said.

“Not Ancient Runes –– Music,” Astoria replied. She made an exit through the stone wall, yet so did he. “I’m going to the fifth floor; don’t bother following me.”

She hoped that Professor Snape would be lurking somewhere to ask _Draco_ if he was also in a “musical congregation.”

“Music is on the fifth floor? I thought it was on the sixth,” he said.

“That’s Ancient Runes, Draco,” Astoria explained. “Why are you trailing after me?”

“I’m not.”

“So you just happen to be walking the same way I am at the same time for no reason. Supper isn’t until six.”

“What are those papers?”

“They’re for Music,” she said defensively.

Endless bullying would ensue if anyone found out the “space nerd” was in a band.

“Music class ends at eleven,” Draco said slyly.

“I’m doing extra credit.”

“You are not.”

“Well, I am, so I don’t know what else to tell you,” she said.

“You don’t want me to see those papers?” Draco pried.

“No! I mean, well, it wouldn’t make a difference,” Astoria stated.

“Then let me see them.”

“No. Mind your own business.”

The two walked in silence for quite some time. When they reached the fourth floor, however, Astoria grew nervous. If he followed her all the way to the music room he would know about the band, and that would be terrible.

“Are you going to follow me all the way to the music room?”

“Are you hiding something there? Part of your ‘extra credit,’ maybe?” he teased. “By the way, where’s your boyfriend? Shouldn’t he be spending time with you at the weekends?”

“Draco, I can’t stand having you follow me,” Astoria said, defeated. Malfoy, along with the rest of the school, was going to find out about Pariah eventually. “Go up to the classroom yourself, and you’ll see there’s nothing interesting. You’re breathing down my neck.”

“I don’t know where the music room is. I don’t have any classes on the fifth floor.”

Astoria recognised that she had only a few choices. She could go back to the common room and hope that he followed, yet make the rest of the band angry for skipping practice. She could go to the music room and have him find out, which wasn’t desirable. On the other hand, she could hurry in to the music room and shut the door behind her. However, Malfoy would be able to hear them and might tell a teacher that students locked themselves in a classroom. A simple charm would unlock that door anyway if they didn’t push something heavy in front of it. Alternatively, she could attempt to ask him to leave politely, as if that would work.

“Draco, could you please go somewhere else? I really don’t think the others would appreciate you dropping in to see them. You’re not very kind to them.”

“You must be breaking the rules in there. I didn’t think you ever broke any rules, Astoria.”

“I’m not breaking any rules! I just don’t think it would be a good idea for you to––”

“Maybe if you tell me _why_, then I’ll leave you alone,” he interrupted.

“You’ll go in there and be mean to Rhiannon, and Hestia will get angry, and Flora will storm off, and it will be _my_ fault… because you wouldn’t have been in there if it wasn’t for me.”

“I won’t say anything,” he said with one hand on his heart and the other risen. “You make me out to be some sort of _bully_. How could you, Astoria? I’m hurt.”

“You are a bully, Draco. I don’t know when you’ll realise that. You had better keep your mouth shut towards Rhiannon. I am _sick_ of you being mean to her,” she snapped.

“Well, I’ll try.”

She took a step toward him and stared straight into his cold eyes with her own.

“_Trying_ isn’t good enough,” she emphasised.

When they reached the music room, Astoria gave Draco one last menacing look. He met her with an impish smile. Astoria could hear music playing in the room. She anticipated a fight as she opened the door. The girls quickly stopped playing when the two stepped into the room. Rhiannon’s amplifiers emitted the strange noise again, but she didn’t give them any attention. All three of the girls stared at Draco, who was furrowing his brow and looking at their ensemble.

“You’re playing alone…?” he whispered. “What is this, _you’re_ making a band?”

“Are you happy now? Would you leave?” Astoria nudged him in a frantic manner. He didn’t move.

“What’s _he_ doing here?” Flora demanded.

“He followed me back up here! I couldn’t make him leave,” Astoria explained.

“He’ll have to leave now! You think I can sing with him here?” Hestia complained.

“What, you think _I _can?” Astoria argued.

“Hey, calm down,” Draco interrupted. “What exactly have you got going on here?”

“You already said it, Malfoy,” Hestia said. “We made a band.”

“Why would you do that? You’re in school. You’re thirteen,” he said.

“I’m thirteen, too,” Astoria informed emphatically.

“Happy Belated Birthday, then,” Draco said.

Then Rhiannon said, “Listen Malfoy, we can’t have you stand here now and watch us play. You’ll have to go, or I’ll get Flitwick to make you leave.”

“Isn’t it the purpose of a band to have an audience?” he asked cleverly.

“We’ve only just started!” Hestia shouted. “And _you_ aren’t the ideal audience!”

He looked more amused than offended. Sadly, it was very difficult for the girls to offend Draco Malfoy, and if one managed to do so, Astoria figured he would probably cry.

“If you play a song, I’ll leave. You probably aren’t that great,” Draco smirked.

“Not that great!” Rhiannon repeated. “Let’s play ‘Useless’ for him, yeah?” she said to the twins. Flora didn’t look very thrilled about doing that, but a few heavy drum beats started momentarily. Astoria sat down, and Draco joined her. He folded his arms judgmentally. When the girls started the song, Astoria noticed that it differed greatly from the usual sound Rhiannon liked to achieve with her guitar. The tune was slow and sophisticated, only a low riff was audible during what would be the verses. Flora’s drumbeat was much like that of a heart, and Hestia’s bass hummed along with it. During the build, Rhiannon did use some sludgy sound effects on her guitar, but they weren’t very domineering. The instrumental was so addicting that by the end of the piece, Draco had unfolded his arms, and Astoria wanted an encore.

“You can go now,” Flora said to Draco.

He harrumphed, “Why are you using electrical cords?”

“They’re not electrical cords,” Hestia said, holding up the charmed cord from Dominic Maestro’s that went to her amplifier.

“Not yours –– _hers_. Couldn’t bear to live without electricity?” Draco said, pointing to Rhiannon. “Figures as much.”

“There’s no electricity in it, git. Electricity won’t work in Hogwarts. I made this apparatus before we bought the rest of the stuff at the music shop. Now get outta here,” Rhiannon snorted.

Astoria gave Draco a mean look. Draco was still sitting next to her, studying Rhiannon’s guitar with cruelty on his tongue.

“You said you’d leave,” Astoria said bitterly.

“What do _you_ do in this band, though? Act as the sponsor, I’m guessing?” he asked rudely. “They’ll make you pay for everything and take credit, Astoria.”

“Sponsor! I’m the _vocalist_,” Astoria proclaimed.

“I didn’t hear any singing,” Draco remarked.

“Rhiannon had the vocals on that song. Besides, I’m not singing in front of you!” she snarled.

“But we’re friends, aren’t we?” he asked with a sickening confidence in his voice.

Astoria had to define the word “friend” in her head. No, Draco was more of an “acquaintance” or even “enemy.” Friend was too strong of a word for someone like him. Rhiannon was her friend. Rhiannon was also one of the many reasons Draco and Astoria were _not_ friends. However, Astoria knew that beneath his confident voice there was definitely an uncertainty; otherwise, he wouldn’t have asked such a silly question. Any time before, it would have been extremely easy for her to just snap at him with a “no,” but she really didn’t feel like saying that. Thinking of Draco’s actual friends –– Crabbe, Goyle, Parkinson, Zabini –– well, they weren’t the best of friends, were they? Astoria did not consider Draco a friend, but what harm would be done if he considered _her_ a friend? It might make him bully the other girls less.

“I guess, Draco,” she muttered after a long silence only the other four noticed.

He didn’t argue further with her. He merely gave her a slightly arrogant smile and strutted out of the music room. Rhiannon, Hestia, and Flora made no comments, but Astoria thought she might feel better if they did. She was waiting for Rhiannon to make a joke, but that never happened. A friendship with both Rhiannon and Draco was nonsensical.

“I only said that to get rid of him, Rhi,” Astoria lied.

“Yeah, I was hoping!” Rhiannon laughed nervously. “’Course now he’ll think you’re friends.”

“She’s his only decent friend, then. He didn’t have to hex her to get her to talk to him like he had to with everyone else,” said Hestia.

_Ba-dum-tss_.

Hestia’s joke was met with a “sting” from Flora, who started to giggle, having surprised herself with her own developing sense of humour.

~

Rhiannon obtained permission from Professor Flitwick to use the music room not only on Sunday afternoons, but on any day of the week, as long as they were in their common room by curfew. But Rhiannon insisted that the band practise every chance they get. Taking homework into account, Flora determined that the girls could get together every afternoon as long as they didn’t have “more than two large assignments, more than five small assignments, or more than one large assignment and three small ones.” And if Astoria or Hestia had more homework than Flora or Rhiannon, the latter two girls would still go. Hestia didn’t appreciate that rule.

“Oh, who needs the bass player all the time, eh? She only has four strings!” a frustrated Hestia said.

“I don’t mean it that way, Hestia. I’m just saying that Flora and I probably need more practice, you know?” Rhiannon countered.

“Whatever,” Hestia grumbled.

Astoria hardly thought Rhiannon needed any practice. She was magnificent with her guitar, but even her heavily calloused fingers and constant positive feedback from the girls couldn’t convince her of that.

Despite some arguments, being a part of a small band turned out to be such a great thing. Astoria was definitely becoming more confident singing, however she needed much more practice. She had co-written three songs, and was working on writing two songs herself without the others’ knowing. The girls had practised around twenty times before their minds were rid of thoughts on the band and filled with thoughts about the Tournament. The morning of the Second Task was a dawn of anxiety for Astoria once again. She was so preoccupied that she did not fix her hair that morning, but she regretted it later when she remembered she would probably be next to Philippe all day.

On the grounds, everyone was shuffling in stand seats near the shore of the lake. Astoria found herself with the Beauxbatons students, yet Flora was the one with her this time. Hestia and Rhiannon were standing where most of the Slytherins were. The Beauxbatons had all become quite familiar with Astoria –– she often sat with them at meals rather than the Slytherins since Draco always managed to sit near her, and Parkinson was often near Draco. When Astoria was unaccompanied by Rhiannon, the Beauxbatons enjoyed speaking their language with her as though it were a little piece of home. However, those who knew how spoke English when she was with friends. Zéphir, in particular, used his command of English to woo Hogwarts girls left and right, but when he went for Flora, it was a little too much for Astoria to stomach.

“You must be Flora,” Zéphir said smoothly, which was a sleuthing guess.

But the twins were always flattered when people could tell them apart, and Flora was already blushing as Zéphir eased her into conversation as though Flora normally was social. Philippe noticed Astoria’s embarrassment of her cousin and decided to embarrass her in better ways.

“You seem so nervous,” Philippe said. “You were nervous the last time, too, weren’t you?

“Well, I’m not sure how safe this tournament is,” Astoria said.

“They’ll be okay,” Philippe reassured.

“If they don’t drown,” she uttered, looking at the impenetrable surface of the murky lake.

No matter how lovely Philippe’s company was, Astoria had intrusive thoughts about the event going wrong. She couldn’t have been the only one in the audience feeling on edge, certainly, but nobody else was being tormented by thoughts of finding the drowned bodies of Champions by the Slytherin common room’s window. It was awful, and she could barely appreciate Philippe’s company. They were speaking to each other in their own little world, but the chatter of the crowd always overpowered the words she had on the tip of her tongue. She was coming across as shy again, and she hated it.

Mr Bagman, a judge of the Triwizard Tournament, announced to the spectators that the Champions had one hour to get something that was stolen from them.

_Stolen and thrown in the lake?_ Astoria thought.

Astoria spotted Harry Potter, and when a whistle blew, he swum into the lake along with the other three. He then remained at a spot where he was still above water, standing. Laughter and teasing came from where the Slytherins were; Astoria was more than happy to be with the Beauxbatons. She felt quite superior to those in her House who always had something mean to say or do. She was humbled when she saw Harry grab his neck and quickly go underwater.

“What happened?” Astoria gasped. “It looked like he choked!”

“I don’t think so,” said Flora. “He went in the water of his own will, it wasn’t like he fell or anything. Maybe he grabbed his throat as part of his plan to stay underwater.”

“Oh, right…” said Astoria, and Flora and Zéphir chuckled at her.

Slowly, people began to sit down. A great disadvantage for the audience was the fact that they could not actually see the Champions at all in the murky lake. That is, with the exception of Professor Moody, who was pacing round the stands, lucky enough to see the whole event with his magical eye. Yet he seemed to miss the things right in front of him; he had stepped on Professor Snape’s foot, using the wooden leg no less. Other than Professor Snape’s shouting, it was rather quiet for a competition until after around fifteen minutes when the talking became similar to that at lunchtime.

“How is the band going?” Philippe asked.

“The band…” said Astoria, and the memory of her telling him about Pariah back when she had been excited slapped her in the face.

“It’s still just writing and practising,” Astoria said. “We’re supposed to meet up with Tracey Davis’s dad someday so he can give us advice about, erm, getting started…”

“Where do you have to go to see him?” he asked with interest.

“Well, I think he works at the Wizarding Wireless Network station in Diagon Alley. He rarely comes to the Hogsmeade one even though the station’s based there. That’s our problem. We can’t just go to Diagon Alley in the middle of the school year, and he doesn’t get many chances to come to the Hogsmeade location.”

“He can’t come on the weekends? That is when the trips are, anyway.”

“We didn’t really talk to him directly…”

“You might want to try that,” Philippe smiled, but Astoria felt the advice was better directed towards Rhiannon.

As time went on, the students were getting tense. Twenty minutes to go, fifteen, ten, five… Astoria was terribly concerned. Even Flora looked nervous, and she was the toughest girl in their year. A bell rang. It had been one hour. None of the Champions were out of the water yet, and many high-pitched sounds arose from the audience. Then, simultaneously, Cedric and Fleur emerged from the water and swam to shore. Cedric was with the girl with whom he had gone to the Yule Ball and was swimming noticeably faster than Fleur even though Fleur was not carrying anything. When Cedric, the girl, and Fleur reached the shore, the school matron, Madam Pomfrey, started fussing over them. But Fleur was screaming and crying, and she kept trying to push Madam Pomfrey away and go back in the water.

“What’s wrong with her?” Zéphir asked, as though someone else knew.

“She didn’t get what was stolen from her,” Flora mumbled. “Astoria, you don’t suppose––?”

“There is a chance it wasn’t a person!” Philippe exclaimed, more to himself than the others. Now he felt it, too.

If Cedric’s girlfriend was stolen, then that meant that taking hostages was not out of the question. Astoria thought they were _objects_ that were stolen; the announcer said “something,” not “someone.” She hoped with all her heart that Cedric was the only one who had a person taken from him. But Fleur was so desperately trying to get back in the water.

Viktor Krum then reached the surface and swam to shore with the girl with whom he went to the Yule Ball. They too were met by Madam Pomfrey. So it _was_ people that had been taken hostage underwater… Everyone could hear Fleur crying and shouting. When Astoria got a better view of her at the water’s edge, she could see that Fleur had several large red wounds on her. Astoria couldn’t control her mind anymore. Fleur could have died down there. Whoever was with Fleur had drowned. Harry Potter and another person had drowned. Astoria was shaking and crying. She felt Philippe’s hands in hers and several people talking to her, but she couldn’t hear what they said. All she could hear was Fleur, screaming, crying, “That is my sister! LET GO OF ME! _My sister is still under the water_!” It was like everyone was worried, but no one was doing _anything_, and that was the worst thing of all. The world in front of Astoria became fuzzy and dark purple and then turned black, and she couldn’t hear anything at all.

When Astoria opened her eyes, she was looking at a high ceiling with wooden beams. She felt more nauseated than she could ever remember being in her life. She was in a bed that was not nearly as comfortable as the one in her dormitory, and she had two pillows placed under her legs. She looked to the side and saw Flora, Zéphir, and Philippe.

“You fainted,” Zéphir said.

“Fleur…?” Astoria uttered.

“Fleur and her sister are okay,” said Philippe. “Harry and his friend are fine, too.”

“Professor Dumbledore and the Tournament officials weren’t going to let them die in the lake! The hostages were under a charm. If the Champions didn’t get them, there are merpeople down there to bring them back to the surface,” Flora explained. “The merpeople would put spells on the Champions and bring them up, too, if it came to it.”

“_Well_!” Astoria exclaimed. “How were we supposed to know that?”

“I know, I was worried, too,” said Flora. “It didn’t make sense, though, that people might die. Although, I suppose they knew what they were getting into…”

“Oh, don’t say things like that, please,” Astoria snapped. “Is this the hospital wing? How long have I been in here?”

“Yes; about a minute,” Zéphir said.

“Oh.”

“Cedric got first place for this one, Harry second, Viktor third, and Fleur fourth. I believe Harry and Cedric’s points are equal now in the Tournament,” said Flora.

“Points! It’s enough that they haven’t drowned!” Astoria cried.

She could feel her heart beating faster than usual, yet the relief that she felt was enough to make her laugh uncontrollably. Nothing felt right or organized in her head. Madam Pomfrey, looking quite exhausted, walked next to Astoria’s bed. Astoria tried to contain herself.

“I didn’t think we’ll need a blood test, Miss Greengrass? You panicked, and you haven’t had enough breakfast or water.”

“Oh,” said Astoria.

Madam Pomfrey had taken a hold of Astoria’s hand and was squeezing her finger. It turned white, then very slowly went back to the pink shade it was.

“Stay there for about ten minutes, dear. Then you can leave. And keep your legs elevated.”

“Oh… Thank you.”

Rhiannon, Hestia, and Daphne arrived shortly after.

“Are you okay?” Daphne squealed, hugging Astoria.

“Yes! Yes! I just fainted, I’m fine!”

“I’d never go in that Tournament, Astoria! Putting Fleur’s sister underwater! And the others’ friends! _Honestly_!” Daphne said.

The Task seemed to have shaken Daphne up quite a bit, also. The incident with Fleur and her sister actually had Daphne in tears.

“See? I told yeh Astoria’d be fine,” Rhiannon said to Hestia.

“Well, she could have hit her head when she fell!” Hestia said.

“Not at close quarters like we were in the stands,” Rhiannon said impishly.

Seeing Rhiannon made Astoria feel silly. It was obvious that Rhiannon saw her as some frail thing that faints at the slightest nerves. Nothing could be further from the truth. The overwhelming headache and nausea that had come in with the tide of fear was more than Rhiannon would be willing to hear about. Philippe helped Astoria sit up. She felt even sicker in a sitting position. The sickness did go away after about ten minutes, so Astoria left with her group. She was quite content to have Philippe hold her arm on the way out, though, just in case. None of them, though, would really understand how angry and afraid she had been. It seemed like she had made a big deal out of nothing in retrospect.

Although the second task of the tournament had only been a small part of her day, and she had only fainted for a minute or so, Astoria found herself unable to stop moping. Whilst her roommates went up to the music room to practise, she pretended she was still too light-headed to make the climb upstairs and go sing. She moped for a while in her dormitory, and then moped for a while in the common room. Daphne was fluttering all over the room and made more than one stop at Astoria’s chair to chatter about cousin so-and-so’s new date. That wasn’t nearly as interesting as the legends of alien sightings detailed in the book Hestia had given her. Yet it was too loud in the common room to concentrate on the alien book, much less any homework, with everyone gossiping about the Triwizard Champions. Astoria decided to take a walk to get her mind off the tournament and its embarrassing effect on her stress. Philippe had gone back to the carriage with his friends after walking Astoria back from the Hospital Wing, so Astoria walked alone.

She was plenty able to climb steps. She wandered all over the castle with what daylight there was left. Each patch of sun coming in through the windows held a good amount of warmth, but it only took the smallest bit of shadow to create a longing for better clothes. It was never this cold at Quennell Park, even in the winter.

Astoria lost track of where she had been and had never planned out where she was going. At one turn, she found herself in a corridor with nothing but a small closet and a spiral staircase. She wondered which tower she was in as she climbed up for no particular reason. At the landing, there was a large old door with a knocker and some small chairs. Astoria first guessed that it was a teacher’s quarters, but when she heard a voice, she paid more attention.

“What liquid can contain the soul?”

“What?” Astoria blurted.

“What liquid can contain the soul?”

The voice was coming from the moving beak of the figure of the golden eagle on the door. It had been fashioned in the shape of a doorknocker, though it wasn’t really serving that purpose. Astoria at last used her brain to figure out she had discovered the Ravenclaw common room. She stared at the door blankly, wondering why her cousins Sofronia and Adamina had never invited her to hang out here. She frequently dined with them and the Beauxbatons at the Ravenclaw table, but their interactions were limited to that, weren’t they? And here Astoria thought they would spend more time together once they all attended Hogwarts. So much for that –– Astoria was perpetually available.

“What happens if I don’t know the answer? Do I get cursed?”

“Of course not. You receive no entry, however,” said the eagle, with more than a hint of condescension in its voice.

Astoria figured her cousins were as disappointed with her as this eagle. They had been closer growing up, but perhaps the problem wasn’t that Astoria was _in_ Slytherin –– it was that she _was _a Slytherin.

_What liquid can contain the soul_? Astoria mulled on.

Rhiannon probably would have said “hot cocoa,” and she would have been on to something even though that wasn’t the answer.

“Hot cocoa,” Astoria chuckled.

“Go back,” said the eagle.

Astoria made a face and went in circles down the staircase. She admired the view of the hillside out one of the windows and realised how far up she had climbed. Being this high already, she tried to find her way to Astronomy Tower. It wasn’t an easy task, since she wasn’t anywhere near her usual route. The best way to get upstairs would be to pick one staircase and stay on it –– if it changed, she would stand and wait for it to change back. Besides Arithmancy homework, it wasn’t like she had anything better to do.

Astoria made it up to the tower at dusk. No one else appreciated this place. Astronomy was seen as essential to move up a grade but unessential for magic. It wasn’t Charms or Transfiguration, which had everyday spells, and one didn’t make anything in the class like in Potions or Herbology. There weren’t any monsters or knockout spells to learn about, like in D.A.D.A. It was a pursuit of knowledge and the nuanced applications of it that mattered in Astronomy. Astoria breathed in the woody scent of the flambeaus lighting her way. It wasn’t quite like home, but it was something closer than teenagers’ overwhelming colognes and Herbology manure. Astoria wondered how late the other girls would play. She thought about making a trip to the music room next, but she couldn’t bring herself to sing if she was told to.

_Quit beating yourself up_, she thought, but it was so easy to do. She wasn’t sure that she would have been able to make friends with Flora and Hestia if they weren’t in her dorm, and with the idea of Pariah being Rhiannon’s chief concern, Astoria had perhaps taken Draco Malfoy’s words to heart. What purpose did she serve for the band besides paying for things to get started? Sure, she had taken vocal lessons and had a strong foundation in classical training, but that probably wasn’t helpful for a rock band, was it? How was she supposed to get in front of people and sing when she could barely make any friends? She was a boring sort of person. All she wanted to do was spot things in the sky, but she didn’t have anybody to say, “Ooh, look at that!” to. Philippe, for one, never asked her about Astronomy. When she talked about it, he and all of her friends said “M-hmm” and nodded.

“I do want to be home again, but I couldn’t do that to my family. I’d be a failure. I’ve already worked so hard.”

Astoria stopped climbing. The classroom door above was open, though it sounded like the conversation in there was private. There was something Astoria didn’t like about the tone, but she couldn’t place it. There was something too close to home in the word choice.

“It may seem like a failure to you, but there is nothing wrong with going back to being home-schooled. However, I know you wouldn’t be happy if you did. You’re doing a great job here.”

Professor Sinistra was answering, because who else would it be in the Astronomy classroom? But Astoria was the only student who talked to Professor Sinistra about things unrelated to class. Unless there was some N.E.W.T. student she was especially close with, this didn’t make any sense. Students actively avoided her much like they did with Snape. What was worse was the subject of home-schooling. Who else had been home-schooled? Who else had been home-schooled that talked to Professor Sinistra?

“I’m sorry. Really, I’m not that great, Professor,” said the awful voice. “I’m not doing a good job at all. It’s always the same… You’re the only one who ever saw something better in me. I wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for you! I wouldn’t be here at all!”

“Now that’s not true. Your test results spoke for both your hard work and the talent you so fervently deny having,” said Professor Sinistra.

Astoria’s hands scrambled to hold on to the railing, and she was sweating through her shirt, cold and boiling at the same time.

_What the hell_?

“I’d do anything to prove myself, but I always do the wrong thing somehow. I’m sorry, Professor Sinistra. I really am. All I want to do is be home again, but…”

_She sounds just like me… That’s my voice. That’s _my_ voice!_

Astoria didn’t have the voice to prove the similarity. Her mouth was dry and her teeth were sore and gluey. How had she ended up on this walk, anyway? How was she hearing her own worries from her own voice?

“Hey,” she gasped. “Hey…”

As soon as she made noise, she begged that no one had heard it. The must have been an explanation for this. Maybe she had hit her head too hard when she fainted earlier that day. Or maybe she had already fainted again, and this was a dream. Maybe someone had got a nasty spell on her earlier, or maybe that darned Ravenclaw doorknocker had cursed her after all. Or maybe… maybe it was all coincidence! Maybe someone else had been home-schooled and found Professor Sinistra as delightful to talk to as Astoria did! It wasn’t like the voice was crystal-clear anyway…

“Don’t cry, dear. You have accomplished so much. You’re one of my best! Just because you have a difficult time with other classes, or difficulty fitting in, that doesn’t mean you should look at yourself this way. I’m very proud of you!”

“No… no… I’m awful… I’m so sorry…” the voice cracked.

“Now, stop that. You’re not awful. You’ve held your own in difficult circumstances. What would your friend Rhiannon have to say about this, hm? She doesn’t think you’re awful. She really looks up to you!”

“Oh, gosh, Rhiannon…” the voice cracked again, full of water. “I can’t help her!”

Astoria’s mind screamed at the mention of Rhiannon. She was out of her body. Something was very, very, wrong. She tried to wake up and pinched her arms all over, but no matter how hard she tried to become sane, she was not in the classroom. She really was on the stairs hearing herself talk, hearing herself cry.

She started running back down the stairs as fast as she could without falling. It would not solve the horror, but it would get her away from it. Once her feet hit the third step from the bottom, she jumped, and bolted down the corridor until she couldn’t breathe. She could make it to the music room and see her normal friends and everything would be normal. Astoria glanced over her shoulder and saw the awful thing standing at the bottom of the tower already. She had already made it to the Grand Staircase and started down –– she could get away way from the thing. Down, down, down…. Her ankles were beaten by the pressure of storming. If there was ever any decent time for the stairs to turn into a slide, this was it. She slammed onto the landing of the fifth floor and saw the thing coming after her from above. Rushing into the hallway, she shouted for Rhiannon. She turned into the classroom, and saw that they had already left and she had trapped herself.

She slammed the door to keep the thing out.

It had somehow been right behind her, as though it hadn’t needed the staircases to move. Astoria saw the shadow of its feet under the crack of the door and nearly lost all of her dinner.

“Are you going to be all right?” came her voice through the door.

_What? No_, Astoria thought over the throb in her head. _No, I’m not all right!_

“What reason do you have to run from yourself?” the voice asked.

“What the hell are you!” Astoria screamed.

“What the hell do you think I am?” came the voice.

It was marked by sniffles and softness that was nothing but bait. The thing on the other side of the door might have looked identical to Astoria. But Astoria knew she was the real one because she was the one who _didn’t_ want the door open.

Whatever the thing was, it had a solid body, because Astoria heard it slump on to the floor and lean against the old wood of the door. She heard her own voice crying at full force. Still pressing her palms against the door with all her strength, Astoria lowered herself down to the same level and held her ear against the wood. Everything sounded so real.

“What’s wrong with you?” she mouthed.

“You already overheard me. I want my home back,” the voice answered and cleared its throat, like it was a damaged rendition of the real thing.

Silence fell. It remained for so long that Astoria’s heart even slowed. With her body calming, Astoria tried to clear her mind. In spite of how real it was, it didn’t make sense. She must have had some terrible hallucination. Maybe she had hit her head when she fainted, and she would have to go back to the Hospital Wing. It wasn’t like she had an evil twin. This was the real world, and she really had to go to Astronomy class that evening. She would probably stop by her dorm after class to tell her roommates that she still wasn’t feeling well, grab some things, and go to Madam Pomfrey for the night.

Still, for good measure, Astoria drew her wand before opening the door. Though on the other side, her body and face were right in front of her, splattered wet with tears and holding its hands toward her. Making eye contact with herself was the worst thing Astoria had experienced in her thirteen years.

“_Confundo_,” the false thing said, but Astoria hadn’t heard it over the sound of her scream.

~

Even though Astoria had spent a long time talking with Professor Sinistra, she had figured the professor needed some of her time back before class and had come down to the music room. It was a good thing she already had grabbed her materials for Astronomy, since she had been out later than expected and it was time to head back upstairs. She left the music room, having just missed the other girls after her walk, which had been her intention. It was a bit embarrassing to have cried in front of the professor, but she felt much better and wasn’t even sure why she had cried in the first place.

“Oh, _there_ you are.”

Draco Malfoy looked to be waiting for her at the end of the hall.

“I didn’t see you walk up to class. I figured you would be here, singing off-key and all that other fun stuff,” he said.

“I didn’t get to sing today, whether off-key or not,” Astoria responded sarcastically.

She didn’t see any reason to be more standoffish. She and Draco were both going the same direction, after all.

“Hey, erm…” he started, giving her a strange look.

“Yes?”

“Are you okay? You seem… I don’t know… really stunned or something. I heard you passed clean out. I didn’t know you were of such frail constitution, Greengrass.”

“Very funny.”

“No, seriously, are you okay?” Draco asked again, this time more earnest.

“I’m fine, thank you. I’ll make it through class.”

“We’re twenty minutes into class, Astoria,” Draco informed her.

The puzzled look on her face didn’t help her case that she was feeling perfectly fine. It was a little difficult to look right at Draco after he delivered that information. She must have dozed off in the music room without any disturbance and spitting from Rhiannon’s amplifier.

“Now, wait one minute. Did you come looking for me?” Astoria teased.

“Sinistra made me,” Draco answered.

“You volunteered,” she said.

Draco shrugged.

“Who else’s chair am I supposed to kick in this economy? Tracey would have my throat.”

Astoria smiled to herself and apologised to Professor Sinistra for being late. The professor gave her a knowing look, considering their conversation earlier, and excused her tardiness. The night passed without event, although Astoria was somehow unable to find a clean uniform the next morning.


	9. The Sound of Money and Influence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each chapter will come with a musical rec, and my [playlist (link)](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLkbEwOpb9udL8NQSwPCtzW_HAw_KqsKFy) will update along with the chapters.
> 
> Chapter Nine - "Rock 'n' Roll Star" by Oasis
> 
> Even though wee teenaged me put these characters in a band subplot (lmao), when I went back, I really wanted to expand on one of the bigger themes as being "things handed to you," which appears in many different contexts over the course of the story. Draco seems to have finally realized that he has been placed in a Slow Burn, so he's making more appearances. ;)

“It’s an honest question,” Astoria said to her friends at lunch the next day. “What liquid can contain the soul?”

“And this is their common room _password_?” Hestia clarified.

“Well, it was the other day when I walked up there. I think the riddle changes.”

“Lotta effort to be a Ravenclaw, then,” Rhiannon said. “No wonder they hide up in that tower. What if you can’t get back in, right?”

“Do you have an answer to the riddle?” Astoria asked again.

“I mean, if any liquid contains _my _soul, it’s hot chocolate,” Rhiannon said firmly, and Astoria gave her a big smile.

Hestia thought hard and said, “I bet the answer is ectoplasm, though. Although, wait… ectoplasm is plasma, not liquid. Right? What’s ectoplasm feel like in a jar? Here I’ll ask them –– they’re seventh years…”

Flora finished a crunchy carrot and said, “It’s ink.”

“Ink?” Astoria echoed.

“Ink is the liquid that can contain the soul, as it’s a means of creation. It takes something metaphysical, like thought or feeling, and puts it on paper. The answer is ink.”

“Ah, Flora, showing us all up. Good thing we don’t solve no riddles, or the rest of us would be getting cosy with the Hufflepuffs upstairs.”

Within the next week, Astoria considered Philippe’s advice and asked Tracey to find out if Mr Davis could come to Hogsmeade on a weekend when they were ready to give a few demos. Tracey relayed the news that her father would like to come on the next Hogsmeade visit, which was on the approaching Saturday. They would meet him at the WWN building and could begin their session there. As such, Rhiannon had ignored most of her homework that week. She insisted on last-minute practices that were twice as long as usual.

“We want to make a good name for ourselves, don’t we?” she insisted.

The twins and even Astoria were getting a bit grumpy about all of the work, though. Flora stopped going to the music room after Wednesday.

“If I practise any more, my arms will fall off, and I won’t be able to play the stupid demos!” she asserted, and left the room after five hours of playing songs with the others. She and Rhiannon stopped speaking; even in the dormitory, they made an effort to ignore each other. Yet when Astoria asked Flora about her true opinions on making a band, Flora said she wanted to “stick with it.”

Another pair of friends who was not speaking were Tracey and Parkinson. A nasty article written by a woman named Rita Skeeter appeared in the _Witch Weekly_ magazine. It was about Harry Potter and his alleged love interest, Hermione Granger. It also mentioned that Hermione had the affections of Viktor Krum, with whom she had attended the Yule Ball. Astoria had never formally met Hermione, but many girls described her as being very intelligent and kind. Except, of course, Parkinson, who was the one interviewed in that terrible article. One of the main reasons Astoria distrusted the article was because Parkinson was described as “pretty and vivacious,” whilst Hermione was “plain, devious,” and to Astoria’s disgust, derisively and pointlessly called a Muggle-born. In the article, Parkinson accused Hermione of brewing love potions to win the affections of famous wizards such as Harry and Viktor. Before Astronomy class, with Astoria as a reluctant witness, Tracey read the article and lashed out at Parkinson.

“Thanks for making us look bad again, Pansy! I’ve met Hermione; she’d never make a love potion. And you –– telling someone like Skeeter that! Why, you’re just as bad as that journalist!”

“Maybe next time I’ll tell her _you_’_re_ the one brewing love potions for Max Lazenby!” Parkinson rejoined.

“Get over yourself! Just because I have a boyfriend––”

“Like I’m jealous of you with Max! His nose is crooked!”

“Oh, _please_!”

The fight lasted until Professor Sinistra entered the room, her footsteps processional and commanding. But after class, Astoria knew the fight would last much longer based on the nasty looks Tracey and Parkinson kept giving each other. She had always felt sorry for the girls in Parkinson’s dorm, but this highlighted their troubles.

At lunchtime on Saturday, Astoria and her roommates arrived in Hogsmeade and went to the Wizarding Wireless Network building. The interior of the building was unlike the rest of the buildings in Hogsmeade. It was contemporary, with a lobby of tile floors and a front desk of heavily polished cherry wood. A witch with a tight brown bun was sitting at the desk and looking at them like she expected an explanation for someone their age arriving.

“We’re here to see Mr Davis,” Rhiannon said.

“Name?” asked the witch, visibly sceptical.

“Carrow, Clarke, and Greengrass,” said Rhiannon.

“Oh, Greengrass? Floor three,” the lady said, checking a paper with a look of disbelief on her face. It wasn’t common to see a band consisting of thirteen-year-olds.

When they arrived on the third and uppermost floor, there was another desk, though the wizard sitting there had a Mohawk and was chewing gum.

“Yeh?” he said.

“We’re here to see Mr Davis,” Rhiannon said again.

“Studio in the back.”

“Thanks.”

The four girls went into the studio and saw a man in a suit. He had grey stubble on his face, broad shoulders, and knees that stuck out a good distance from the edge of his seat. He smiled at them when they walked in, and if Astoria didn’t already know, she would have known now that it was Tracey and Montel’s father. The siblings took after him; they probably looked nothing like their mother apart from their smaller stature.

“You must be Pariah,” he said, standing up. His head almost touched the ceiling.

“Yup,” Rhiannon said, and they were astounded that he had remembered their name.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you all.”

He shook the girls’ hands when each told him her name.

“I heard you’re gonna play some demos for me today?”

“Yessir,” said Hestia.

“And you’ll want these recorded?” he said, and they all looked at each other.

“I didn’t know we could get that,” said Rhiannon. “Er, can we?”

“That’s the best way to provide you with feedback,” said Mr Davis. “All right then. You can set up right in there.” He pointed through a door on the right. The girls walked into a spacious room that had several microphones floating in the air. They could see the control room through a window.

“This is––” Mr Davis started.

“The live room,” Rhiannon finished. Her eyes were bright, like those of a child receiving gifts on Christmas.

“Right you are,” he said.

Flora set up her drum kit, and Rhiannon worked on her guitar. Though Rhiannon wasn’t paying any attention, Astoria saw Mr Davis looking at Rhiannon like she was nutty.

“Where’d you get that guitar?” he asked.

“I got it from a guy who bought it from a guy who stole it from a used guitar shop,” Rhiannon answered.

“Used guitar shop where?”

“Overseas.”

“Overseas?”

“A long time ago,” she added.

“I see. Well, how’d you manage to, er, get that to work, exactly?” Mr Davis questioned.

“Y’know, The Hobgoblins did it ’fore they came out with ‘non-electric electric guitars.’ I just used the same stuff,” Rhiannon said to the wall.

“I know, I was there. But don’t you want a magical guitar? No one’s using those charms for this anymore. It’s more work.”

“I am sure,” Rhiannon said confidently. “I love this guitar.”

“Suit yourself,” he said. “So we’re just recording a demo, then. Well, do you have a name for this yet?”

Rhiannon was planning on playing “The Pariah” all week and was very excited about it. But after a discussion with Astoria and Hestia, she decided that it was best to save that one until they had already made an impression. Even Rhiannon had to admit, the song was a little bit intense to throw at a producer first thing, and Rhiannon had let Astoria know her vocals on the chorus “needed work.”

“We’re playing a song called ‘Genesis,’” Rhiannon said.

Astoria could see the disappointment in her eyes. Rhiannon really wanted to play the other song, but she was afraid of hearing negative feedback she wasn’t prepared for.

“Now, Rhiannon Clarke has the guitar, Astoria Greengrass usually has the vocals, Flora has the bass, and Hestia has the drums?” Mr Davis checked.

“Hestia has the bass. I have the drums,” said Flora.

“My mistake. You two might want to wear name tags or something,” he joked.

Astoria was in the middle of the room. She and Hestia fastened their floating microphones to stands. Rhiannon and Flora left theirs floating round their instruments; they weren’t singing on this song. This was the first time Astoria sang in front of anyone except the other three girls. Maybe she should have sung in front of Draco for rehearsing. At least she wouldn’t care what _he_ thought. But she was looking at a professional producer here. She could see Mr Davis through a glass window.

“There’s no vocal chamber here…” Rhiannon said.

“Don’t worry, all the sound records properly with the equipment he has in there,” Hestia informed quickly.

“So we won’t be hearin’ my guitar in Astoria’s microphone?”

“Not at all.”

“Blimey, this is much easier than the Muggle way,” Rhiannon commented.

“That’s the idea,” replied Hestia.

When Mr Davis gave the “OK” sign, Flora started the familiar introduction to “Genesis.” Rhiannon was playing quietly. When she began to play louder after about four seconds, Hestia came in with the bass, then Flora’s drum was enough to make one jump. “Genesis” was, in a literal sense, the genesis of the band Pariah. Astoria and Hestia spent an hour on the lyrics; Rhiannon spent a day elongating the song. Astoria drew a deep breath and tried to calm herself down before she started to sing.

Hestia’s backing vocals gave Astoria more confidence. It helped when there were two people singing rather than her alone. Thankfully, most of the chorus included both girls’ vocals. After the second verse and the refrain, Rhiannon played a guitar solo. Astoria still found the instrumental parts awkward because she was in the front. On the songs in which she didn’t sing as much, she was either given a piano part or placed closer to Hestia. But the instrumental breaks were something that couldn’t be avoided, and she couldn’t run to the back, which was what she felt like doing. Her stage fright mostly occurred before she started singing, during parts when she wasn’t signing, and after she was finished. It was odd, but she didn’t mind the singing itself very much anymore. She was bothered by being up on stage and not doing anything. She had no charisma.

Her favourite part of “Genesis” was the lyrics that led to the outro. Astoria and Rhiannon had written these together based on things heard from Slytherin pure-bloods. It was about how deep hatred could run in people so young when they were taught wrong. It amazed Astoria that people would go so far as to say “Don’t touch me” to a Muggle-born. She even saw Zabini refuse sit in a chair that Rhiannon sat in. One day, someone wouldn’t borrow a quill from Rhiannon in Transfiguration, preferring to get in trouble with Professor McGonagall than to hold a “filthy” quill.

“_You’ll never be clean_

_Your mouth betrays your heart_

_I wrote to tell your mother_

_My family’s torn apart_

_And people like her_

_Reap what they can’t sow_

_I brought you to this century_

_From soil she don’t know_”

“Well done, well done,” Mr Davis said after the girls finished playing the rest of their songs. “I got the tape right here.” He held up a small wizard cassette. They listened to the songs, and then grew quiet. All four girls were desperately hoping for approval.

“Astoria, at the beginning of the songs, your vocals are always shaky,” Mr Davis said.

“Yes… I heard, yes,” Astoria muttered.

“And Rhiannon, I think you and Flora need to balance your tempo a bit. It’s as if you don’t agree.”

The girls nodded, each internally blaming the other, which was not the solution. Mr Davis paused.

“Alright, here’s the deal.”

The girls were all holding their breath.

“As long as you make a good, solid pop song every once in a while… people expect that from the younger ones, you know…”

Rhiannon was going to explode from anticipation any second.

“I think it would be in accordance to get you signed to our label,” Mr Davis said.

Rhiannon squealed, unstrapped her guitar, and ran over to their producer. She was shaking his hand and crying, “Thank you! Thank you! I can’t believe it! Thank you! This is my dream!”

Astoria stood still. What was happening? Rhiannon and Hestia were happy as could be, but she and Flora had no talent. This was supposed to be a meeting to get advice, not actually gain a producer. Something had spiralled out of Astoria’s hands without her even seeing it in the first place. She looked at Flora, who was wide-eyed and gaping. Mr Davis had no reason to offer them a recording contract at their level. They had never even performed publically. Their repertoire was limited to playing in the music room to empty chairs, and practice had not yet made perfect. This was ridiculous. How were they supposed to promote music out of Hogwarts? Astoria didn’t know the first thing about how the music industry worked.

“Recording contracts can be rough,” said Mr Davis, then he looked at Astoria. “I’ll contact my label on Monday and talk your parents again, and we can figure this out with them. Royalties, deadlines, things like that.”

Rhiannon looked at Astoria with nothing short of adoration. Astoria stared back with nothing to offer. So _that_ was it. When her parents had bought the instruments for Pariah, they had went ahead and bought the recording contract, too. Astoria never thought that having written to them about seeing Mr Davis at the WWN would have led them to do this. They hadn’t even checked with her to see if it was what she wanted. And if it _had been_ what she wanted, she would rather have earned it through talent than money. Oh, but she couldn’t let Rhiannon know the apparent extent of her parents’ influence. Rhiannon really thought it was their hard work.

“I think my parents could figure all of that out for us, yes,” Astoria said shortly, and they all bid Mr Davis thanks and good-bye.

The girls went to the Three Broomsticks to celebrate with butterbeer, then Astoria bought them all sweets at Honeydukes. Rhiannon was happily eating her chocolate until a shaggy black dog swept by and ate a piece that she had accidentally dropped on the ground. She was in tears, and not the kind of tears she had in the WNN building.

“Dogs can’t eat chocolate!” she cried. “Oh my God, I’m gonna kill a dog!”

“It was a tiny piece!” Hestia said. “Really, Rhi, it only ate that little piece. It wasn’t like it was a tiny dog or anything, anyway. It… it should be okay. It wasn’t dark chocolate.”

“But it was a _thin_ dog! No wonder it ate the chocolate! Oh, it’s gonna be so sick! It doesn’t even look like it has an owner! I have to tell Hagrid…!”

This was probably the only thing that could distract Rhiannon from the joy of starting Pariah. Rhiannon really loved animals, though she didn’t keep a pet at school because it cost too much to feed and take care of one. Animals and other creatures also usually loved Rhiannon. Astoria, on the other hand, never had that ability with animals. Even a goldfish would avoid her. The twins and Astoria went back to the dungeons whilst Rhiannon insisted on seeing Professor Hagrid about the dog. She returned a happy girl; she came across Harry Potter instead who confirmed that it was his dog and that the dog was fine. (She did tell him he needed to feed his dog more, though). The four girls then planned on playing a joke on Tracey in the common room when they got a chance to talk to her.

“We saw your dad today, Tracey,” Flora said in her usual sombre tone.

“You did! How did it… go…?” Tracey’s voice trailed off. The other four all looked distraught. “Oh my goodness! Was he mean?”

“It’s okay, Tracey,” Astoria said. “We’re just too young.”

“But I heard you playing in the music room! You guys are incredible! My dad’s just being––”

“Tracey, it’s fine,” Hestia said. The four girls started walking away. Then Rhiannon jumped backwards.

“Your dad’s gonna get us signed to a label!” she shouted.

“What‽ Hey! Don’t trick me like that!” Tracey said. She and Rhiannon were holding hands and jumping up and down like little girls. Hestia joined in, but Flora and Astoria decided they would just stand back. Astoria had a feeling Flora had figured it out and was keeping it quiet for Hestia’s sake, much like Astoria wouldn’t tell Rhiannon. They were the only two who were conscious of the fact that everyone in the common room had gone quiet and was staring at them. Astoria really hated when people stared at her like that; she wondered if anybody was teaching their children etiquette anymore. The hush made it worse, especially when Draco took it upon himself to announce, “They’re in a band with Clarke, those three.”

Astoria saw Daphne give her a “What on earth?” look. It occurred to Astoria that she hadn’t told her sister anything about Pariah. It then occurred to her that Daphne might figure out what their parents had done, too.

Draco, not having been taught etiquette, or rather, ignoring what he was taught, accordingly shoved a few students out of his way to walk to where the girls were. If he said anything rude about the band, Astoria was planning on slapping him clean in the face. Her expression told him so, too.

“So you really took this seriously,” he said. “Three pure-bloods in a band with a Mu–– _Muggle_-_born_ and her Muggle guitar.”

Astoria made no reply. She was quite content to watch his eyes shift as he tried to think of a way of insulting her without consequently getting hit in the face.

“I can’t believe anyone would want you,” he said.

“Is that so?”

This might have been the only good thing about the band –– rubbing it in Malfoy’s face.

“Aren’t they going to make her get rid of that electrical guitar?” he jeered.

“No. There are people who couldn’t care less that she modified a Muggle piece. Our producer is one of them.”

“That’s a shame,” he said mordantly.

“_You_’_re _a shame!” Hestia said. “Come on, Astoria. We’re going to have Tracey listen to the demos in the dorm.”

“Okay,” Astoria said, and followed Hestia.

“Looking forward to see you sing in front of a crowd of people,” Draco called out. “You might have to pay them to come!”

“Thanks for your unwavering support, Malfoy,” Astoria yelled back.

Tracey liked the demos so much that she asked if she could buy the tape right there. Rhiannon said that she really wouldn’t need to, since her dad was the girls’ producer, and Hestia thought that the recording contract wouldn’t allow that type of sale regardless. Tracey pouted a little, but she congratulated the girls before retiring to her dorm.

“Pop song,” Rhiannon said as if she was holding an important conference. “We need a pop song. I can’t write it. I don’t do pop.”

“Don’t look at me,” Flora said immediately. “I didn’t think any of this would happen.”

“Way to believe in ourselves, there, eh?” Rhiannon huffed.

“I’m working on some songs… I don’t know if they’re _pop_ exactly, but they aren’t your –– _our_ usual sound,” Astoria said. “I only have them with the piano right now.”

“Lemme see them,” Rhiannon urged.

Astoria shuffled through the contents of her bag and found the roll of parchment with the songs she finished writing on it. One was called “Sweet Nothings,” another “The Things Unsaid.” She gave it to Rhiannon, who studied the songs and then concluded that they would be the pop songs they would offer to Mr Davis. If he didn’t think they would do, Astoria would be in charge of writing more.

“I don’t think I can write things a bunch of people will relate to,” Rhiannon claimed.

Astoria didn’t mind being in charge of the calmer songs. She had fun writing them, but now that they truly were being judged for quality, she wasn’t so sure. Maybe they weren’t exactly lyrically strong, but the general population could listen to them without feeling sad or angry. Astoria would never say that, of course. Rhiannon might get insulted.

Professor Flitwick was quick to congratulate the girls the next morning in Music. He asked them if they would like to play a song for the rest of the class, and they were happy to do so. The professor joked that he should get some credit in interviews, but the four were already planning on giving him plenty of credit. If it wasn’t for him, Flora wouldn’t have been playing the drums, and they wouldn’t have had a good place to rehearse. The applause that they got from the rest of the class after their song was enough to make Astoria feel like she had earned at least _something_, although a full-out contract made her feel like a fraud.

It was extraordinary how news from eleven o’clock on Sunday in the music room could travel throughout the school by noon the next day. A group of Hufflepuffs that looked to be glued together at the shoulders pointed at the girls as they went to lunch. Several Ravenclaws that weren’t in their Music class smiled at them. Ginny even gave them a big wave as they walked past her table. A group of Beauxbatons all sat at the Slytherin table to be near Astoria this time instead of her coming to them, and the Durmstrangs hadn’t moved.

“We’re bloody famous,” Rhiannon beamed.

Flora looked at Astoria like she was expecting a confession. Philippe was trying and failing to save Astoria a spot next to him at the overfilled Slytherin table.

“Do you mind moving a spot, please?” he said to Draco, who was sitting next to him. Draco didn’t budge.

“Draco, move,” Astoria said, prodding his shoulder. Malfoy scooted toward Parkinson on his other side. Rhiannon found a seat between two pretty Durmstrang girls. Hestia was close by. Flora had taken a vacant seat at the Ravenclaw table, where she was welcomed by several others who hated mornings just as much as she. The instructors looked utterly baffled at the mixing of students, but they didn’t make anyone move.

“You have a contract?” Philippe asked.

“Not quite yet. Mr Davis is going to contact my parents about the terms and conditions of it. Like royalties, creative control, merchandising… I tried to write to my parents about it, but they didn’t tell me anything. They’ll probably be able to straighten everything out for us.”

“That’s good. It’s amazing, what you’re doing, Astoria. I can’t wait to hear you sing.”

“Oh, thank y––”

“Of course you can’t. She’ll probably sing about you!” Draco howled with laughter. Parkinson followed.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” Philippe said.

“He always acts like that, Philippe. Just ignore him,” Astoria said in French. It was twice as fun to speak in French when Draco was around. He tried to figure the words out, but knowing only a few French phrases didn’t help him much. A fifth-year across the table was he was trying to get Astoria’s attention.

“Are you _really_ in a band?” he asked. “Or are you just part of Flitwick’s groups?”

“I–– uh,” Astoria said.

“Oh, we’re in a band all right,” Hestia said with unnecessary flair.

A few first-years looked intently at Astoria, as if she was going to do something magnificent at any moment.

“Quite the superstar, aren’t you?” Parkinson barked.

“I guess I am,” Astoria barked back. She realised that she sounded conceited, too. She didn’t care; it was Parkinson she was talking to.

“What’s a toff like you going to do with all that extra money? Aren’t you loaded enough? Draco tells me your parents bought the record label.”

“I thought you were in want of money, Parkinson. You have to keep your _supply_ of gold watches, right?” Astoria sneered.

Parkinson tugged her sleeve over the flashy watch she was wearing. Astoria knew Parkinson didn’t get that for herself. Draco would be happy to buy Parkinson anything as long as she kept on worshipping him. Draco was staring at the wall, pretending not to hear the girls fight.

“That girl is as bad as he is,” Philippe joked in French. He really didn’t have to speak in French to be discreet; Astoria would have been pleased if Parkinson knew what they were saying.

“She’s worse than him,” Astoria said, and finished her meal.

A few days later, Rhiannon asked Astoria if she had heard from her parents. She hadn’t, but she was expecting a letter and an explanation soon enough. Rhiannon asked if she would send her parents another letter, but Astoria refused. If Rhiannon wanted to write them a letter, she was welcome to. Astoria hated going in the owlery. It was cold and there was poo all over the floor. The normally quiet owls always started making commotion and flew over her head, and the last thing Astoria needed was to have animal crud land in her hair as she tried to yell at her parents through the mail.

Actually, the last thing she probably needed was a Howler letter. Hermione Granger, Ginny’s friend, kept receiving Howlers in her mail in the mornings. Most everyone could hear them. Astoria felt so sorry for her. The Howlers always screamed at her about giving love potions to Harry Potter and Viktor Krum and called her a terrible girl –– _evil_, even –– and many of them were from grown adults. Every time a Howler screamed at the Gryffindor table, Tracey became enraged at Parkinson. Astoria thought Tracey would be howling herself by the end of the week, but she noticed Daphne never stuck up for Hermione.

“All these people sending her letters like that, really! I’ll make a damn love potion right in front of Professor Snape to get everyone’s mind off of Hermione!” Tracey ranted on Thursday. She looked like she was about to stab Parkinson with her fork, something Astoria wouldn’t do herself but would feel perfectly fine about if someone else did.

It was only a couple of days before Rhiannon’s fourteenth birthday when a letter arrived from Astoria’s parents. Astoria read it before letting Rhiannon even have a peek. It turned out that her parents didn’t feel the need to explain their corrupt use of money. It made Astoria even angrier, but at least it gave Rhiannon a letter she could read.

_Dear Astoria_,

_Your mother and I are negotiating with the recording company_’_s agents_._ You will be signed under the _“_In_._fine_._it_.”_ label_,_ as The Weird Sisters are_._ We hope you like this decision. At present_, _we are debating about the creative control of the recording company_._ Once we have that settled_,_ I believe you will be able to sign the altered contract_._ Mr Davis will be available at the WNN building in Hogsmeade during your Easter break_,_ save for the Saturday preceding Easter Sunday_,_ and the Sunday itself_._ If you have any trouble_,_ please send us an owl_._ I apologise for the late reply_;_ I have been called to meetings at the Ministry quite often lately and have only just been able to start business with the record label_._ Do enjoy your Easter break_._ We are so very proud of you_!_ You have accomplished so much_,_ Astoria_.

_Much love from Father_.

Astoria nearly said, “rubbish,” after reading the letter. Her accomplishments meant nothing under the umbrella of her family name. The Greengrasses owned a house in which someone could get lost. They owned a large amount of land that held three ponds, a rosarium, and an old carriage house. Astoria’s father’s family was wealthy. Her mother’s family was wealthy. When her mother and father got married, the two had more money than they could handle. Her mother refused to get paid working as a tutor at St Mungo’s. Her father treated his job as optional. In all sincerity, Astoria felt that if they had any more money, she would have to start throwing it in the streets. She wanted to tell Rhiannon that. She wanted to come clean, but it would break Rhiannon’s heart.

Astoria tried to think of the contract as being Rhiannon’s birthday present. It was Rhiannon’s largest dream to be in a band. Pariah could be a success, even if its foundation had been forged in the hands of Astoria’s parents and not Rhiannon’s calloused fingers. Rhiannon said that there were countless, absolutely countless, Muggle bands in the world. How many wizard bands were there? About fifty internationally, excluding the ones who only made classical music. Pariah at least had a market. And Pariah was Rhiannon’s band as far as Astoria was concerned, so maybe there wasn’t as much harm in nudging the company to accept them. It wasn’t like Rhiannon had been showered with opportunities her whole life. Astoria drew her robes tighter over her nice clothes and buttoned them up. Malfoy was right about what had happened because his family pulled stuff like this all of the time. She had an inexplicable urge to complain to him about her parents, because she felt that he might understand how she felt.

_As if. _

Pariah had to work, even if it was going to work backwards.


	10. Scars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each chapter will come with a musical rec, and my [playlist (link)](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLkbEwOpb9udL8NQSwPCtzW_HAw_KqsKFy) will update along with the chapters.
> 
> Chapter Ten - "Daughter" by Pearl Jam

The four girls all signed the recording contract for a different reason on a Hogsmeade trip during Easter break. Astoria scribbled her name with reluctance and resentment. Afterwards, Mr Davis helped the girls start “thinking on LP terms,” as he called it. Yet the tension between the four was growing. The contract said that a deadline for the first album would be in early July. It really was quite enough time to work, even with school, since the girls had many songs written and on demonstration tapes, but for Rhiannon, it was hard to take their manager’s input. They met their manager, Mr Leonard Mongaby, when they signed the contract. He wasn’t a mean gentleman, but he was very matter-of-fact. The girls were signed to a major record label, and he was in charge of making sure the label was complimented by the addition of Pariah. Astoria, Hestia, and Rhiannon had fifteen songs completed by May. Mr Davis rejected three that had been close to them.

After the initial gossip, their popularity dropped all the way back to base level. It might have been advantageous, since all four of the girls wanted their work to be secretive until the formal release of their music. The first single, by Rhiannon’s request, would be “The Pariah.” Mr Mongaby tried to explain to her that many bands were remembered by their first single, and Rhiannon responded that that was why she wanted “The Pariah” first. He clarified that “The Pariah” was not exactly a song people would run to the shops to buy, and Rhiannon still insisted that that was the point. As such, Mr Mongaby scheduled the album’s release to be _before_ the single’s, which insulted Rhiannon deeply.

Astoria didn’t particularly like the sound of being “remembered” for that first single, but she wasn’t going to say anything that would start another argument with Rhiannon. None of the girls were on the best of terms with each other since being thrown into this band, and it was showing. Philippe even asked Astoria what had happened to them since they signed the contract, as they were acting distant. She told him that she did not know, but inside, she felt that the work was putting too much stress on their friendship. She told herself that everything would get better over time, even though that was becoming difficult to believe. The twins were always criticising each other; Flora and Rhiannon both wanted to manage rehearsal times, and Hestia told Astoria to quit “acting like a baby” on more than one occasion. Astoria was so offended by the comments that she considered walking out. It was her parents’ investment, not hers.

Once the month of May was coming to a close, the lesson in Astronomy was on the constellation Virgo, and Astoria had it drawn in South Quadrant 3 on her chart. She found this lesson to be one of the boring ones, since she was already knowledgeable about the constellation. Professor Sinistra finished her lesson early, so Astoria rested her head on her arms and closed her eyes. Tracey Davis was in her own world and disrupted Astoria’s rest unknowingly.

“My dad said you’ll probably finish recording soon,” she said.

“Mm…? Yeah,” said Astoria. “Yes, er, May… No, June something-or-other…”

“That’s great! Do you have a name for your album yet?”

“Yeah, _Fed Lines_.”

“Oh! Do you know how long it’ll take to finish it?”

“No, I don’t know how many songs are going on the album. That’s more up to Mr Mongaby than your dad. He’s not as helpful, really…”

“Sounds like you’re busy,” Malfoy chimed in.

“I am,” said Astoria.

“I noticed your Mudblood isn’t too happy with you lately.”

“Don’t say that word!” Astoria spat.

“Well, you two are fighting, right? It’s probably the Mudbl––”

“Malfoy, don’t even bother talking to me.”

Tracey was laughing and saying, “You tell him!”

“I’m not offending _you _personally,” Malfoy said stubbornly.

“You are, though! Learn something for once,” she said. “How would you feel if I always insulted your friends?”

“I wouldn’t overreact like you!” Draco said.

“Well, then, they must not be very good friends to you,” Astoria said.

He stared blankly at her. He didn’t get it. All year, she had been trying to tell him not to say things like that, to get away from her, and he just did not get it. The day that something Astoria said would finally get through to him would be the day she got a bad grade in Astronomy. It was very frustrating.

On the last day in May, the girls had another disagreement in none other than Rhiannon’s new favourite class. About halfway through class, Rhiannon interrupted the others to whisper to them they would be practising that evening and should go grab their things after class. It was like she couldn’t even wait till the lecture was over to prod them along. Flora made the mistake of correcting Rhiannon’s bossy attitude about rehearsal by saying, “You should be thankful Astoria’s parents were willing to get us in.”

“Willing, huh?” Rhiannon said. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Flora bit her tongue and pretended to be very interested in unpacking her books.

“Astoria? What’s that supposed to mean? This stupid contract your parents put us under –– were ‘willing’ to put us under? You mean it wasn’t Mr Davis’s idea?” Rhiannon hissed. “You’re telling me _Malfoy_ was telling the truth about them elbowing the whole bloody label?”

“You know, Rhiannon, my parents negotiated that whole contract for your sake,” Astoria finally snapped. “You should be happy we have this much creative control.”

“It’s not about creative control, Astoria, it’s the whole deal! Are you telling me it’s all fake? That your parents feel so sorry for me? That we’re actually a shite band but Mongaby’s been bribed?” Rhiannon shouted, gathering everyone’s attention.

“_Bribed_? They both think very highly of you –– I told them about you, that you’re my best friend, and…”

“Oh, that’s a shame,” Rhiannon said, her tone muffled by her arms wrapped round her face. “I’m surprised they have enough _mollycoddling_ left in them to try n’ bother with me.”

“Miss Clarke, stop arguing and pay atten––” Professor Moody started.

“It must be nice to have parents who drop money all over you –– to have a dad who don’t abandon you, and a mother who treats you right! They actually take care of you, they love you? They love their own child –– what a bloody concept! Ain’t it great, Astoria? _Well_,_ keep it to yourself_!” Rhiannon squealed at Astoria over the professor’s voice.

Rhiannon’s round face was completely pink, and her eyes were glinting with tears. Every student in the class was staring at her. Even Professor Moody was speechless as he looked at her with both of his eyes unusually fixed. Rhiannon hurried out of the room with a look of the strongest humiliation on her face; she didn’t even take her spiral notebook. All was quiet in the classroom except the slight squeaking noise of some vile-looking Dark object that was teetering on its stand. Astoria expected to have myriads of points taken from Slytherin in either her or Rhiannon’s name. She expected to be kicked out of class, or to be sent to bring Rhiannon back to class. In a worse case scenario, she’d have to see the Headmaster. But the professor was noticeably halted; he was staring at the open door.

“Class dismissed,” he said tonelessly.

He took a long drink from his hip flask as though its true contents were alcohol. The students hurried out of the door before his mouth became free to yell at them. They were whispering about Astoria whilst still within earshot, but it didn’t even hurt as much as Rhiannon running away from her did. Astoria put her books away and started to put Rhiannon’s things back in her bag. She cursed in her head; she missed her chance to escape with the rest of the class and felt the need to apologise.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt your class like that, Professor. I wasn’t expecting a fight like that, really, I just––”

“I heard the conversation, Miss Greengrass. I know. Settle down.”

“I’m awfully sorry…”

“Sometimes, Astoria,” the professor said, sitting down in his chair with some effort, “people lose it.”

Astoria was getting a sick feeling making eye contact with his magical eye, unnervingly still focused as it rarely was. She hoisted Rhiannon’s bag around her free shoulder and tried to leave.

“No you don’t,” he said, and her hard blinking started to burn.

“There are things you couldn’t imagine about her upbringing, Astoria. It’s no fault of your own, but she isn’t going to think the same way as you because of it. She probably never will. So before you go storming out of here, it’s imperative you understand that she doesn’t mean everything she says when she’s in pain,” said Professor Moody.

Astoria shook her head. The professor was right, but it was so out of character for him to be this attentive to the drama of Slytherin third-years. He couldn’t act like he knew Rhiannon’s personal life when he had come to Hogwarts at the same time as Astoria. Rhiannon came from an abusive home, but she kept the story of her house limited to dark, offhand comments and self-deprecation.

“Why would she tell _you_ instead of coming to me, then?” Astoria said resentfully.

“What, me of all people?” the professor said, taking some insult.

Astoria regretted her tone and her way of thinking. After all, if she had a problem deep enough, she would rather go to an adult like Professor Sinistra than try to explain it to Rhiannon. However, Professor Moody simply didn’t strike Astoria as someone who served the school community beyond cantankerously teaching defensive magic and asking for more spice on the food.

“You look after your friend for me,” Professor Moody demanded, his voice dreary, freed from its growl.

Astoria turned warily. Professor Moody’s magical eye was rolling once more, and he was drinking from the last of the hip flask.

“Well, get out of here, class is over,” he said, his grumbling rasp returned.

Astoria thought that Professor Moody must have had Firewhiskey in his flask that made his throat sore most of the time; a lozenge would not even fix it, what with all that he drank. She left the room and went to look for Rhiannon. She knew she didn’t have a very good chance of finding her in such a large castle, but there were places she certainly could look. Astoria thought she would try the lavatories, as she had seen girls crying in there between classes from heartbreaks and work overload. The lavatory closest to Astoria was nearly empty. A group of sixth- or seventh-year Gryffindor girls were fixing their hair.

“Excuse me,” said Astoria. The girls shot their eyes rudely upon her.

“Did you see a girl crying anywhere? She was in D.A.D.A. only about ten minutes ago…”

“Slytherin?” asked a girl with a blonde braid.

“Yes.”

“I saw her go down the stairs.”

“Thank you.”

The second floor was mostly empty –– there were still around fifteen minutes of final period left. A solitary Ravenclaw who was rather thin and due for a shave was rebelliously strolling around.

“Have you seen a girl crying? She came down the staircase a bit ago,” Astoria asked.

“Yes, she went in there,” he pointed at a large oak door. “It’s out of order… perfect place for a good sob, hm? The ghost in there sure thinks so; you can hear her in the corridors.”

“Thank you…”

“Oh, you’re welcome.”

Astoria opened the heavy door. The whole lavatory was dusty and had thick cobwebs hanging from the ceiling. None of the candles were lit. Astoria heard sobs from two voices –– one shrill, the other very deep.

“Rhiannon?”

The shrill sob ceased suddenly, and Astoria saw a female spectre appearing no older than fourteen emerge from a stall. She had large pigtails, heavy fringe, and several blotches on her face. Her glasses were slipping on the tip of her nose, though they did not fall off. She was loud, but she carried a light presence when compared to the ghost at Quennell Park.

“Come to say you’re sorry, have you?” the ghost wailed. “Well, she’s just crying her heart out in there!”

“Stop it, Myrtle. She didn’t do an-anything,” came Rhiannon’s shaky voice.

“Oooh, my mistake…” Myrtle whispered, and floated through the door to another stall. Astoria followed her, and pushed the partly open door. Rhiannon was leaning against the side, her cheeks red and shiny. Myrtle was hovering over her protectively. Rhiannon had taken off her black robe, and was using it to dry her face. She suddenly swung her arms around Astoria’s neck.

“I didn’t mean it!”

She was crying again, almost out of breath.

“It’s okay, Rhiannon. I’m sorry, too. Really, Rhiannon, it’s okay!”

But Rhiannon’s crying was uncontrollable.

“Rhiannon, everything’s fine!” Astoria said, freeing herself from her friend’s grasp. “Are you upset about the band? Did somebody else do something?”

Rhiannon shoved herself out of the stall and ran to the sinks. Then she did something that really made Astoria frightened. Rhiannon took off one of her shoes –– Astoria saw this frenzied look in her eyes through the reflection in one of the mirrors –– and began slamming the shoe right into the glass. Rhiannon was yelling –– yelling nonsense. The shards from the mirror were falling into the heavily cracked sink beneath it. Astoria wanted to stop her friend, to hold her down, but was far too scared to move. _Had_ Rhiannon lost it?

“Oh dear…” Myrtle said. “Oh dear…not _that_ one…” She floated into another stall and began wailing; the additional noise piled atop Astoria’s mental strain.

“Can’t even –– go to –– school! Can’t even––! ‘Mudbloods’ they say! _Damn_ the Mudbloods! _Kill_ –– _them_ –– _all_!” Rhiannon howled, intent on cracking the mirror to bits. The shoe had flung out of Rhiannon’s hand, but she continued to hit the mirror with her fist, wounding it and flicking blood into the sink.

“_Rhiannon_!” Astoria screamed. She ran over and seized her friend by the arms, even if it meant getting on the wrong end of the girl’s punches. “Calm down, come now, calm down!”

Rhiannon became a child, shaking and whimpering. Astoria couldn’t bear to think that she had done something so terrible to bring Rhiannon to this state.

“Astoria?” Rhiannon said quietly.

“W-what?” Astoria asked.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, Rhi…”

“No. I’m sorry because, y’know all them kids; they say you’re a ‘blood-traitor’ and all that, I mean… if you think you’re in my band because you have to be… if you think you’re my friend because you have to be, ’cos, ’cos no one else’ll… they call me dirt and call you a pig in the Mud, I mean… I just don’t want to bother you anymore.”

“I’m staying in the band and I’m staying your friend! I don’t care what they call me. You’re my best friend and they can’t change that, okay?” Astoria began to cry as well.

“I don’t have any short-sleeved shirts anymore,” Rhiannon wept.

“…What?” Astoria murmured.

“I sold me short-sleeved shirts… I sold them to the neighbours’ kids when I was twelve. ‘Ten shirts for five pounds, great buy,’ I said.”

“Er… why did you sell them?” Astoria asked uncomfortably. The subject seemed so random after a fit as big as Rhiannon had just had.

“I don’t want people to see…”

“Wait, see what? Rhiannon, don’t cry… what is it?”

“You still don’t know about what happened, do you?”

“What?” Astoria was very confused. _Short sleeves_? Something was on her arms, obviously, but what could have happened? Rhiannon sat down on top of her black robes and patted the floor. Astoria sat down with her.

“When I first came to this school, everything was fine,” Rhiannon said. “I knew I was a Muggle-born, but I didn’t know people didn’t like that at first. I heard comments on the train, though, and decided it’d be best to keep me mouth shut about being Muggle-born. So I went to school, and it was great. Everything was new to me, and I wasn’t fearing for my life on the daily. Objects floating in the air, ghosts, flying, talking portraits, magical this, magical that. And I heard that we was getting ‘sorted.’ So, McGonagall explained it all nice to us. ‘Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, Slytherin,’ and all that stuff about Houses and points. Now I don’t know anything about these Houses until the Sorting Hat sings. And I was amazed that a singing hat was gonna read my mind and throw me in some House for the next seven years. And I’m Clarke, so I went up pretty soon, y’know, but I didn’t get sorted very soon. They stuck the hat on me and I heard that little voice –– You heard the little voice, too, yeah! –– But… but it said ‘Oh _my_’ as soon as it went on me head.

“‘Oh my’ didn’t sound like a good thing to me, and that was the only thing I heard for an whole minute. I thought maybe it wouldn’t sort me ’cos I was a Muggle-born, but I saw others like me get Sorted. And it started saying these all fancy words that I wasn’t too familiar with at the time, like it was making sure of something. And people are lookin’ at me, so I smile and shrug. And I thought, what is this stupid hat doing? I need to get Sorted, right? The little voice said ‘You will achieve amazing things, but it will take much to get there. It’s your will that drives you, so you can make it,’ and all that other stuff. So I’m getting irritated –– it only took a few moments for the kids that came before me. And then the voice says ‘There’s a first for everything. Good luck,’ and then screams ‘Slytherin!’ So I go over to the table with the green kids and they’re all cheering for me. Ain’t that _funny_? The whole lot of Slytherins cheering for me because they didn’t know! I thought, what is with this ‘good luck’ rubbish? And then I see twin boys in red making faces at me. They’re hair was the same colour as their uniforms, y’know. Many Gryffindors were making faces at me and I didn’t know why. I thought that that was what the ‘good luck’ bit was about, but I was wrong.

“Then we get assigned to our dormitories… I’m in a room with Olivia Shardlow, Imogen Stretton, Tracey Nettlebed, and Diane Carter. I’m friends with everyone but Tracey N. ’cause she’s always rabbiting, you know her.”

“You were friends with _Diane Carter_?” Astoria broke in.

“Ah, yeah. The mini-Parkinson. Friends enough,” Rhiannon said and rolled her eyes.

“There’d be the ‘Mudblood’ slur flying around sometimes, but I guess it didn’t bother me because I wasn’t being called it. I don’t know. And I ’member one occasion Imogen asked me what my bloodline was. I said well, I’m an half-blood. There are plenty of half-bloods in Slytherin. But she wasn’t happy with that, she asked just how half-blood I was. I said I had a Muggle father and a witch mum. She looked at me with that ‘Oh. I see’ look, like I wasn’t even _half-blood_ enough for her, ’cause ‘half-blood’ don’t always mean fifty-fifty and whatnot; I guess I coulda been more half-blood for her taste. And then, well…” Rhiannon trailed off. Tears fell from her eyes yet again.

“It was early November,” she said. Her story slowed down; it was getting more difficult for her to tell it.

“There’s this Gryffindor boy found frozen. Petrified, rather.”

“What?”

“He was Petrified and frozen in place. They put him in the Hospital Wing. Professor Sprout said she was gonna make somethin’ that would bring him back, but it was scary for all of us because no one knew what was happening.”

“How did he get Petrified?” Astoria asked. Rhiannon ignored the question.

“I write me name down to stay for Christmas. I didn’t want to go back. My dad Geoffrey had just left after nearly shooting me… Jessica blamed me for everything. Then our D.A.D.A. teacher at the time, a stupid man, has Harry and Draco duel in the Great Hall. And Draco used _Serpensortia_, which was real impressive because, well, a snake just appears and attacks the opponent! But what was even more impressive was that Harry was seriously… talkin’ to the snake. No one could tell what he was saying. Personally, well, I thought he had an hairball. That night, everyone was talking about it. They said he was a Parselmouth and the Heir of Slytherin. They said that means he could talk to snakes and was a descendent of the founder. Sounded good to me, had no real significance. Then I think the next day was when that rich Hufflepuff kid got Petrified, too. Now I was worried a lot ’cause the Gryffindor kid was a Muggle-born and so was this toff –– er, no offense, Astoria.”

“I don’t care… so both kids Petrified were Muggle-borns? Why?”

“Well, after that, not much happened till May. Dumbledore actually got kicked out as Headmaster for some reason, and then Hermione and a Ravenclaw girl were Petrified. They’re both Muggle-borns, too. So now I’m thinkin’ I’ve got to get the hell out of here. My roommates’ll find out I’m Muggle-born if I get Petrified. And being Petrified isn’t great, either. So except for class, I’m in my dorm. I’m scared. No one knows what’s happening. People keep talking about this Secret Chamber… No wait, the Chamber of Secrets, yeah. They say there’s some monster under the school sent by Slytherin himself to go kill Muggle-borns. I don’t believe any of that rubbish, but I was scared something awful. Then the Monday before the final exams…” Rhiannon stopped.

Astoria hugged her. “You were Petrified and people found out you were a Muggle-born?” she asked gently.

“No. Oh, God, I wish,” Rhiannon blubbered. Astoria’s shoulder was wet with her friend’s tears.

Rhiannon stood up from the floor and stretched her legs. She went into a stall. Astoria was quiet. If that wasn’t what happened, what did? Rhiannon came back out of the stall wearing her grey vest and holding her blouse. Astoria’s instinct was to look away at the sight…

Rhiannon’s right arm made Professor Moody’s furrowed, scarred face look pristine. From the top of her shoulder to her elbow, her arm looked swollen. Massive, bumpy scars covered the entirety of her upper arm; there were two horizontal indentations across it, as though parts of her arm were actually missing.

“I was never Petrified,” Rhiannon said. Her head was down; she was looking sideways at the floor. “The monster was real. It wanted Muggle-borns. It was called a basilisk, and if you make eye contact with it, you die instantly. If you look indirectly, like through a reflection, you’re Petrified.”

So that was the “bit of an issue” with a basilisk Rhiannon said had happened a couple of years ago. She had downplayed it so much that Astoria had nearly forgotten about the whole thing.

“I thank God I heard about them before. Muggles know about them a little, though they think they ain’t real,” Rhiannon said, shivering. “It was before lunch, I think, ’cos I was hungry. And I just got out of D.A.D.A. I always ran out of the classroom back then.

“But I tripped running, and my books went everywhere. No one helped me pick them up, because they were all hungry, too. Actually, wait, Montel picked up some stuff with me… but anyway. Montel left, and I was alone in the corridor, just a little bit from this washroom, actually. It was totally empty. And I heard something moving against the floor. I barely had any time to get scared ’fore I saw a shadow right above me. It was a slender shadow, and I knew. I shut me eyes and screamed loud as I could. And then I felt this burning pain in my arm –– it was the most painful thing I ever felt, more painful than anything Geoffrey or Jessica ever did, because it just _seared_ my arm like, like a chemical. I never saw the basilisk when it bit me, I just felt it. I thought it was going to eat me arm because I felt the skin tear. I screamed so loud, but without thinking. It was just so painful. And then I don’t know where that thing went, but I was on the cold floor again, and I didn’t want to look at my arm ’cause I didn’t even know if all of it was still there.

“And I opened my eyes, but everything was really blurry and I felt sick. I remember I saw Flitwick’s feet. And he was yelling something, but I don’t remember what it was. I ’member he told me not to move at all, though, so I didn’t. Then I heard McGonagall’s voice. I was real dizzy and then someone was holding me, and I felt this cold water on my arm and the burning went away. But there was still pain there, and I knew I was bleeding pretty bad. And I was trying to say what happened, but I’m not sure if I got to or not because I passed out right after that.

“I woke up in the hospital wing, and the first thing I recall hearing was Snape and McGonagall talking. I look at me arm, but it’s covered in this case thing. I thought that if they wanted to cover it up, it’s not a good idea to try and look at it. It was so damn scary, Astoria. Every other student in the hospital wing was Petrified, all with their eyes wide open like they’d died. And I was missing part of me arm, apparently. So Snape and McGonagall sat down next to me and McGonagall said, real quiet and polite, ‘Miss Clarke, can your parents perform magic?’ I said no, and she nodded her head like she knew already. Both her and Snape looked really nervous, and I’d _never_ seen either of them look that way before. I told them what happened, but I think they already knew that, too. They listened anyway, bless them.

“I was in the hospital all week. No one came to visit me except the twins and Montel. And on Friday, McGonagall said the school was going to be closed, but then on Monday she said it wouldn’t because Dumbledore was back. But there was a girl, it was Ginny, she was taken down… d-down there,” Rhiannon pointed to the sink filled with glass from the mirror she crushed.

“Ginny was taken into the_ sewers_?” Astoria asked.

“No, no. Where the monster was. I still don’t know exactly what was going on, but the monster really did live underneath the school, it really was trying to kill the Muggle-borns. Harry Potter ended up killing it.”

“Heavens…”

“I got out of the hospital on Tuesday, but my arm was really, well, hideous. And people didn’t talk to me no more when I went back to the common room. And then I heard Zabini start saying that I was a mistake… and everyone was calling me ‘Mudblood’ and the whole thing started… The girls in my dorm ignored me. The next week they actually locked me out of the room and pushed a chair up against the door. I had to get Snape to tell them to let me in, and I was so embarrassed.

“But one breakfast that week, Harry Potter came and talked to me. I was sitting alone, and he introduced himself. He asked me if I was the one who was bitten. I said ‘yeah.’ He said that he was bitten, too, but his arm looked normal. He said that Dumbledore had a phoenix whose tears got rid of the venom and healed the skin. McGonagall must have brought the phoenix to cry where I was bitten. I asked him why his arm was normal, though. He said that he accidentally hit part of the monster’s tooth. _How sweet_, I thought ’cos I knew I had me arm about chewed off. So phoenix tears cured basilisk venom and healed wounds, but I was sad to know that I was stuck with even more ugly marks on my body than what I’d come in with The tears couldn’t make the all that skin grow back without an ugly reminder of what happened. There was too much taken off. I’m lucky to have solid skin right here, thanks to the bird.”

Rhiannon quivered.

“That summer was the worst it’d ever been. Jessica said when you get into the ‘occult’ then you can lose an arm, and maybe you’ll learn. She was out a lot drinking. She’d come home real late and beat me unconscious if I wasn’t asleep, just like Geoffrey used to do. …I’m sorry about what I said, Astoria. Your parents are so nice and they got me that contract… It just makes me feel jealous, I guess. My parents never loved me. They didn’t want me.”

Astoria gave Rhiannon a tighter hug. “You don’t have to apologise, Rhi.”

Rhiannon nodded and continued.

“By the next year, I was known as ‘Slytherin’s Blot,’ ‘Enemy of Slytherin,’ ‘that Muggle-born Slytherin,’ et cetera. I was gettin’ into a lot of fights –– verbal, magical, and physical. It was tearing me up inside. I wasn’t welcome at school. I found that I was the first Muggle-born to ever be sorted into the Slytherin House. Other kids thought I might as well just leave. I realised there was nowhere for me to go where I wouldn’t be loathed.

“One time Parkinson and her lot were really making a scene in the hall. Saying I don’t deserve to be in Slytherin. Saying I don’t deserve to be in school. How I’m just a big mistake and that the Sorting Hat’s getting too old. How I’m making the common room dirty, like it was previously clean. I started crying, and our new D.A.D.A. teacher, Professor Lupin, was walking down the hall. He yells at the girls to stop or he’ll get the Headmaster. He said they should be ashamed of themselves. When I settled down, he gave me a piece of chocolate. It was really a treat because I don’t have extra money to buy sweets after we buy our food plan, you know? I felt a lot better.

“I saw that he had scars all over his face. They looked like really deep scratches, like he’d been hurt by an animal, too. He didn’t wear very nice clothes, neither. I heard students make fun of him for his tattered clothes just like they made fun of me, and I didn’t feel so alone. I could hide my scars, but he couldn’t. And I had a uniform to wear instead of my cheap clothes, but he didn’t. And he didn’t let it bother him. He told me that when he was in school, he felt like he didn’t belong, either. But he said that he made some good friends who helped him feel more included. I said that’s great, but I don’t have no friends anymore. He asked me if that was really true. And then I realised it wasn’t. Hestia and Montel talked to me sometimes, and Flora never minded sitting with me when I was alone. I grasped that ‘Whoever’s not against us is for us.’

“I never paid much attention in Professor Lupin’s class, but I did after that. I got really good marks in D.A.D.A. and felt proud of myself. He’d check on me every so often, ask how I was doing. He never let people bully me in the least when he was around. But at the end of the year, he’s resigning from his job. I stopped by his office after the last time I had class with him and just stayed there and talked. I couldn’t understand why he was resigning; I was very upset. He just said that things weren’t going to work out with him being a teacher, but I knew there must have been something else. I really didn’t want him to go. I know I was acting babyish, but I started getting teary. I said I really wanted to leave, too, and that I don’t belong here anyway, but I don’t really belong anywhere. But he sat me down and said that I should never leave anything because I don’t ‘belong.’ He told me that the Sorting Hat put me in Slytherin for a reason. I was strong enough to stay. I could obliterate the blood-purity thing that has controlled that House since the founding of Hogwarts because I was the beginnin’ of new times. I couldn’t let people drive me out.

“He gave me a bar of chocolate the next day at breakfast before he left, but I didn’t eat it then ’cos I felt sick. I later heard the other teachers talking in the hall, saying Professor Lupin was a werewolf. And I got so upset. I thought he was doing fine. He took medicine; you know he was extremely scrupulous about that because nobody noticed a thing. We weren’t in any danger at all. I _know_ we weren’t…”

Rhiannon hugged her blouse. Her eyes were awfully red.

“He was what I always figured a good parent would be like, y’know? Like your parents listen to you.”

Astoria felt that her eyes were probably just as red as Rhiannon’s. She could not find a single thing to say. She hugged Rhiannon and led her out of the lavatory, giving Myrtle, who had been listening to the whole thing, a small wave before leaving. Astoria knew that using a Mending Charm on the mirror was wrong. If Mr Filch ever accused Rhiannon of smashing the mirror, Astoria would take the blame.

~

During the first weekend in June, Astoria, Rhiannon, Hestia, and Flora happily finished recording songs for their album, and it was finally being produced. Astoria was glad; she really disliked recording sessions, and she was happy that Rhiannon had something to look forward to.

Yet Professor Moody apparently recovered from the surprise of Rhiannon’s fit in his class, for he decided to give her detention for the remainder of the year for acting up. Even so, she was a much happier girl after confiding her problems to Astoria. It must have been a terrible feeling to hide it all.


	11. The Doppelvanga

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each chapter will come with a musical rec, and my [playlist (link)](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLkbEwOpb9udL8NQSwPCtzW_HAw_KqsKFy) will update along with the chapters.
> 
> Chapter Eleven - "Soldier's Daughter" by Tonic

Rhiannon had scowled when Moody gave her the task of washing all of the ceiling-high windows in his classroom for detention… _Muggle_-_style_. She was carelessly spilling soapy water onto the floor from the pail on her unsteady ladder. What should have been a simplistic task was made complicated by the fact that each window had five divisions, and each division had at least sixty muntin diamonds. Still, Rhiannon started out by working inefficiently for fear that each of the following chores he would give her would be even worse. Last time she had detention, he wouldn’t even let her read homework after finishing her task.

“Don’t you realise you’re going to give yourself the job of mopping these floors if you keep splashing water everywhere?” said Moody crossly.

Rhiannon took out her wand and fixed the uneven leg on the ladder before returning to her job. To keep herself from losing her mind from tedium, she tried to conceive lyrics for songst that would probably never get cleared by Mongaby. It had been nearly an hour, and Rhiannon was only finished with the first high window. It appeared that Filch had not bothered to clean the windows in the classroom for years, for the cloth she was using became so dirtied that it was no longer its original colour. She still had one hour to go, but decided to rest for a few minutes. She knew that there was no way she could drag out the window-cleaning for a whole month just to avoid the silent treatment. During her unauthorised respite, she pondered that Filch would have let the windows get this dirty in order to provide the teachers with a potential means of student discipline… and to provide the school with an excuse not to invest in curtains. The beam of light from the newly washed window was sufficient enough to roast any student sitting in its path. Rhiannon waited until Moody started glaring in her direction before returning to her assignment.

On the fifth of June, it turned out to be the best day of the year to spend an afternoon in detention, for it was the fifteenth anniversary of Malfoy’s birth, and Rhiannon knew that there was some obnoxious festivity taking place in the common room. There was no way to hide her progress, though, and she finished cleaning the windows. The once-dark classroom finally required no candles during the day. Rhiannon actually appreciated the result, for she could see a splendid view of the rolling hills of the grounds and the picturesque moorland in the distance. She dallied as she emptied the pail in the lavatory sink down the corridor; she realised she still had an hour of detention. She really hoped it wouldn’t be like last time.

When she returned to the classroom, she saw what awaited her, for the fresh lighting in the room made obvious the amount of dirt on the floor. Before Moody could ponder about whether he wanted her to sweep the dirty floors or not, Rhiannon had the broom in hand. The professor seemed entirely unsure how to respond as she took the liberty to plan the remainder of her detention time.

However, the next day, Rhiannon knew her luck had finally run out, and she anticipated the worst of unpleasant tasks –– the staring contest. When she entered the room, the professor was staring directly down at his desk rather bizarrely. Mildly unnerved, Rhiannon took a seat. Professor Moody suddenly appeared to lift off the very top of his desk; Rhiannon quickly recognised that he instead was holding a sort of picture frame.

“Rhiannon, are you able to identify the people in this image?”

Moody turned the frame round so Rhiannon could see its front. The image was unclear, smoky. In it were many silhouettes of people in tall pointed hats. A few shades of barely saturated colour were visible, but overall, Rhiannon identified no one.

“I see them, but I can’t see their faces,” she answered.

“Good, good,” Moody blabbered. “This is a Foe-Glass, a mirror that shows one the reflections of his enemies. The clearer their images appear, the more serious the threat they pose, and the closer they are to you.”

“Wish I coulda had one of those,” Rhiannon mumbled nondescriptly.

“I suggest you get one, Miss Clarke. It’s the most accurate Dark Detector I own.”

He walked the device into his office and returned without it. He sat down, and his gnarled face was folded further as he squinted at Rhiannon in the newfound light from the windows.

“You know why you’re in detention?”

Rhiannon hated when teachers asked stupid questions like that. It never proved anything; actions cannot be reversed.

“Disrupting class,” she said.

She could feel a dreadful essay about educational values coming.

“Wrong.”

“Er, making you need to cancel class early.”

“Still wrong.”

“The… windows really needed washing?”

Moody let out a nasally, crowing laugh that entirely mismatched his gravelly and blubbering speaking voice.

“It wasn’t what you did. I decided to end class. If I wanted class to continue, believe me, it would have continued. No,” he said, “no, it was what you _said_.”

“What I said,” Rhiannon tried to recall it hazily. She mostly only remembered the situation in the lavatory that had followed her outburst in class. “What I said about Astoria’s parents… Oh, well, I was––” she began justifying her behaviour.

“Wounded by your own,” Moody finished surely.

He leaned back totally in his chair, and Rhiannon thought it might fall. Having experience with falling backwards in chairs herself, she was about to say something when she realised he had only temporarily leaned that far back so as to gain the last drop from his hip flask by hovering it over his mouth. He then quickly hobbled to his office once more, evidently refilling the container.

“Well, now,” the old professor grumbled, “You’d be awfully surprised to hear that my own father abused and abandoned me.”

Rhiannon felt her shoulders slump. That hollowness in her chest returned. It was the spot where love for her parents should have been. After being thrown into an otherwise homogenous mixture of pure-blooded children in secure families, Rhiannon was indeed surprised, and a little comforted, by the fact that a pure-blooded wizard felt the same hollowness.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Rhiannon softly.

“Oh, well, the old man’s dead now,” Moody said, juddering slightly as he took a messy swig from his flask. “He can’t hurt me from the grave, can he?” he added in a flat chuckle.

“No, he can’t,” she uttered involuntarily.

Unmistakably, the poor old professor had been keeping these dark grudges within him for quite some time. Rhiannon felt guilty, in part, for bringing them to the surface by crying out in his class. What was she to say? What was anyone ever to say? In the Muggle and Wizarding world alike, there seemed to be no end to child abuse. It left scars even worse than the kind on Rhiannon’s arm.

Her own painful memories amongst the sadness of knowing about the professor had caused her eyes to water. One of these days, she would stop crying in public, she told herself. She hated her weaknesses, and she hated those who gave them to her. By the time she conquered them, she might have a face as wrinkled as Moody’s. The professor’s magical eye had stopped rolling as it always did when he was serious.

“It must have been hard,” he mused, watching the clouds move in the skies outside the window, “to have been raised by those Muggles. They’d never understand you.”

“I can’t really say I was raised,” Rhiannon said emptily. “It started because I was a witch, but sometimes I think even if I wasn’t magical, they’d still find some way to hate me.”

The professor clicked his tongue in a _tut-tut_.

“I had a mother who tried to raise me,” he said. “She was always too sick to do much, eventually died. Father felt that the stress of my mere existence had sped up the process. He made things a lot worse after that.”

“I didn’t ever have anything from my mum. She made me afraid to leave my room after my dad left,” Rhiannon unexpectedly felt herself opening up. “My best consolation is that she ain’t round me too often. I don’t think she’d try to do what he did, though.”

It was far easier to speak about these things with someone who had experienced abuse as well, Rhiannon found.

“What did he do?” Moody asked rather bluntly.

“He got a gun and shot at me,” Rhiannon said. “Then he left for good. The neighbours heard and called the police, but nobody ever found him. I don’t know how someone stupid as him managed to outrun police. Unless he killed himself.”

Moody stared at her, but this time, Rhiannon looked right back at him. Astoria had heard her words, but it seemed like Moody understood what it had really been like. It was like he could even see her scramble for her life, hear the screaming. This was someone who had never had a chance, either.

“I’m sorry, Professor.”

“Rhiannon.”

“What?”

“Don’t say ‘I’m sorry’ to me ever again. You know none of this is your fault.”

“I… I meant sorry for bringing it up.”

“You needed to talk about it. You wouldn’t have said it otherwise,” he rasped. “You see, my father abandoned me, but…”

He brought a single, shaky finger to the middle of his face and jabbed himself in the forehead quite unsettlingly. “But Father never left _here_.”

Moody chugged down more of his ever-present beverage as though it had an anaesthetic effect on his emotion. Rhiannon looked out the window toward the distant hills, hoping that she would not ever feel the need to resort to drinking. There were other places besides that flat in Whitechapel, places with hope.

“Without any parents, you have nowhere to turn,” Moody rumbled thoughtfully.

Rhiannon thought of the people in whom she could confide. There was Professor Lupin, of course, who knew what it was like to be desperately poor and very much alone. There were Hestia and Flora, who avoided any talk about their family but were sympathetic when Rhiannon had the courage to say something about hers. There was Astoria, a girl as opposite as Rhiannon as could be, yet who tried to understand and comfort her with her friendship. Then there was Professor Moody, an unexpected listener who could actually bring about a conversation about things that could hardly ever be put into words.

“Well,” Rhiannon reflected, “you find someone who understands, I s’pose.”

The professor tilted his head rapidly as he appeared to calculate her answer.

“Right you are,” he said in a staid, clear voice that Rhiannon had never heard him use, “right you are.”

~

On Wednesday, Rhiannon had detention immediately following D.A.D.A., for it was her last class of the day. She no longer dreaded detention, but there was something about not being able to leave a room when the bells sounded that daunted her spirits slightly. Having finished her assignment on historical Ministry corruption with the Dark Arts, Rhiannon was watching Astoria rush to compose a long essay about Corona Australis and Corona Borealis. Astoria was not exactly discreet about it and had been under the surveillance of Moody since she started, but as she, too, had finished her D.A.D.A. assignment, the professor said nothing. He was more concerned with students in the back of the room whispering about the assignment they had from him; they promptly received deducted points before even turning it in.

“This is due tonight,” Astoria sighed, having noticed Rhiannon’s attention.

“Forget about it?”

“I did.”

“Sinister Sinistra isn’t one to go easy on you if you miss an assignment,” Montel noted from her seat behind them. “She can tell if you did it last minute, too!”

“Thirty points from Slytherin, Mr Davis,” came Moody’s rasp. “Is that what you call your instructors?”

Rhiannon saw Montel nod a ‘yes’ at her in jest, though thirty points was a bit much.

“Dad says you’re all done recording,” he conversed after class.

“We are,” Rhiannon perked up.

“Can’t wait to hear it, Rhi,” Montel smiled. “Hey, have fun in detention.”

Montel walked out with the twins and left Rhiannon to her light sentence. Professor Moody hobbled to his chair and made a sound that no man under the age of sixty could make as he sat himself down in it.

“Snape was complaining to Professor Flitwick about that group of yours,” he cackled. “He said you actually tried to use electricity in the castle?”

“_Please_, we’re not mental,” Rhiannon sighed. “I use a Muggle electric guitar, that’s true, but I spent a long time converting the thing to use magic only. I’m just doing what The Hobgoblins did back in the ’70s; I don’t know why he’s so repulsed.”

“You know The Hobgoblins?” Moody asked curiously.

“’Course I do,” Rhiannon replied. “I like them better than The Weird Sisters, to be perfectly honest. But I’m on the same label as The Weird Sisters now, so it’s not good publicity for me to compare and contrast, you know?”

“What, got an album, do you?” Moody laughed. “That was quick.”

“Sure do,” Rhiannon said defensively.

“Honestly?”

“Swear.”

“Any good?”

“Sure it is!”

“You sound like The Hobgoblins?”

“Well… Not too much, nah,” Rhiannon said.

“Shame, they were incredible till Boardman got weird and started playing in churches.”

“Hey, we’re just fine,” Rhiannon continued.

It seemed anomalous that Professor Moody was a fan of the borderline-metal Hobgoblins; Rhiannon figured he ought to have been more of the 1940s-Henry-Hall-dance-band type.

“I didn’t think you’d be one for The Hobgoblins, Professor,” she ribbed.

“If you’re saying I was already too old in the ’70s, lass, I’ll have you pick cobwebs out of the ceiling.”

Rhiannon buried her last comment, “I said nothing.”

She laughed at herself when she realised that she had stayed ten minutes overtime in “detention” rambling about music with the professor. If she had talked too long to Astoria about the different techniques musicians can use on double-neck guitars, she’d have put the girl to sleep faster than if she had given her a Sleeping Draught.

The next afternoon, Astoria kept herself from falling asleep during the last bits of class by studying the book about Saturn’s moons that Flora had bought her. Moody was not forgiving this time, and confronted her.

“The last time I checked, this was not Astronomy class, Miss Greengrass. That’s not even your textbook. You must be done with your final report on the Unforgivable Curses and ready to turn it in.”

Rhiannon watched amusedly as Astoria cautiously pulled out a sheet of parchment that was blank except for her name and the due date. Moody, much to Astoria’s advantage, indicated that his comment was on the warning level. He clambered off to yell at the sixth-years who were skipping class and making noise in the corridors.

“How do you spell ‘_Kedavra_’ again?” she asked Rhiannon soon after the teacher sat back down.

“K-E-D-A-V-R-A,” Rhiannon whispered. “Hey, do you think if we spell out the whole thing verbally, it’ll kill someone?”

“That’s not how incantations work,” Astoria said, but after a pause, she added, “Don’t try it, though.”

When Moody had mentioned their final paper, Rhiannon knew she was way behind in both homework and studying for final exams. It didn’t help that most of the teachers were shoving the fear of the O.W.L.s down their throats. Rhiannon hated standardised tests more than she hated Pansy Parkinson and Diane Carter. It seemed ridiculous that teachers would pile stressors on the students all through their fourth year for something that they wouldn’t study for regardless almost a whole year later.

“How bad are the O.W.L.s exactly?” Rhiannon asked Moody after class.

“They’re nothing if you actually study, Rhiannon,” he answered. “I passed all of mine.”

That did not sound very much like Rhiannon.

“What if you don’t study?”

“Would you like anything in lieu of flowers?” he joked.

“I see.”

Rhiannon tried to think of which O.W.L.s she actually had a chance at passing, and apart from Care of Magical Creatures, she felt hopeless, although she had to admit she had improved greatly in Charms. Learning new defensive magic in Moody’s class had also been interesting. Rhiannon knew that O.W.L.s led to N.E.W.T.s, which led to jobs, but perhaps Pariah would be a job that could sustain her instead. In the end, she knew better than to rely on that despite the band’s hopeful outlook. Even the Sex Pistols ended after two years.

“What’s that noise?” Rhiannon jumped.

The noise was unclear, but if she had to give it a name, she would have said it was the noise of a very angry Professor McGonagall smacking her hand on her desk. Moody’s magical eye rolled wildly to the back of his head so that Rhiannon had to briefly view the unsightly spectacle of an entirely white eye. He at first looked quite exasperated at whatever the source of the noise was, but ended up laughing it off.

“There’s a Boggart in my office,” he said, rapping his fingers on his desk as if trying to make a decision of what to do about it. With a growl and a sigh, he brought his eye back to the front.

“Say, can you actually see a boggart’s body with your eye?” Rhiannon enquired. “What’s it really look like?”

“Yeah, ever seen a troll fœtus?”

“No…”

“Looks just like it, except it’s black all over and its eyes are huge.”

“Sounds lovely,” Rhiannon grimaced.

On Friday, the students started chatting about Quidditch on their way out of the classroom. Some were very excited to reunite the team after not getting to play all year due to the Tournament. Most of all, they were eagerly awaiting autumn’s try-outs with the rush of competition lacing all of their words. Rhiannon had been listening to these conversations all throughout the term, though no one ever invited her to join them. It was almost a habit now to talk to Moody about her daily happenings. She forgot it was part of detention.

“Like Quidditch, do you?” Moody asked as he was shuffling through piles of N.E.W.T. papers.

“Absolutely,” Rhiannon replied.

“You play?”

Rhiannon hesitated. “Well, no. I don’t have a broom of my own. That prevents me from that. Plus, the Slytherin Seeker hates me something awful.”

“Malfoy? The rat never pipes down about being Seeker. Go on and try out anyway. You could use what you get from that album of yours to buy a broom.”

“Think so? I’ll need a pretty good one if I want to be a Beater.”

“You’ll need to practise clobbering Malfoy for me if you want to be a Beater.”

“Gladly!” Rhiannon said.

After several enthusiastic discussions about national teams and a handful of unresolved arguments, Rhiannon remembered to ask Professor Moody if he saw the Quidditch World Cup that took place over the previous summer. It was an opportunity she had once greatly wished she had had; she was lucky that she did not, however, for a large pack of You-Know-Who’s Death Eaters stampeded the World Cup grounds the very night after the main and final match.

“I’m afraid I wasn’t quite there to see it, no,” the old man answered, bitterness tingeing his voice. Shortly after, “I had to prepare for teaching over the summer and those tickets were terrible hard to come by.”

“True. A bunch of old Death Eaters got in anyway, I heard. That’s ridiculous they could just sneak into a public place like that and have a go,” Rhiannon said.

“Aye, and packed like zebras too. Bunch of milksops, they are. They’re blessed _I_ wasn’t there. Oh, I would’ve showed them their place.”

By the way the reports of the incident sounded, it would have been much to the public’s advantage if a few more Aurors had been present at the games.

_An _Auror_, now that_’_s a trade_, Rhiannon thought. In no vague terms, Rhiannon would thoroughly enjoy kicking the arses of Dark wizards and getting paid to do it. However, it would mean that she’d have to make greater efforts in all of her classes; she knew from the beginning of the year that Aurors were required to have at least five high N.E.W.T. scores to qualify for the job. It didn’t seem to coincide very well with leading a band, and the thought soon became a daydream.

The next week had the impression that detention was utterly voluntary. Rhiannon did not inform her friends of that, of course, for they would be undeniably insulted that she would rather spend two hours having conversations about music, Quidditch, and nasty people with a teacher than talking with them. As she recalled, Flora’s current focus was on studying for final exams, Hestia was precariously experimenting with mixing plants to make different herbal incenses, and if one looked closely enough into Astoria’s eyes, one might see Philippe Boisvert’s reflection regardless of where the boy actually was. Moreover, the classroom was quieter than the common room, and Rhiannon was guaranteed all that time of not being called a Mudblood. It was a nice change.

On Tuesday, when Rhiannon walked into the room, she discovered an iron cage which contained a bird about the size of her forearm. Rhiannon circled the cage and studied the fowl. Most of its feathers were deep blue, though yellow feathers fringed the edges of the wings. The tail feathers almost looked as if they had been glued on; they added about ten inches to the bird and were formed wispier than those on the rest of the body. Rhiannon was happily studying the pretty bird when it suddenly made a very repellent noise that sounded like the sneeze of a large dog.

“Mimicry,” entered Professor Moody’s similar-sounding call. “That’s a Doppelvanga, and right now, it’s trying to sound like me.”

Rhiannon secretly thought that the bird was doing a fine job of an imitation. Moody opened the cage and brought the bird out once it perched on his arm.

"Now, this is something you should never do, and I’ll tell you why –– the Doppelvanga has a four-X danger classification.”

Rhiannon found herself on the other side of the classroom rather quickly.

“You didn’t let me finish. This bird is interesting because it’s not the bird itself that’s dangerous. It’s what preys on the bird that’s given it the four-X. Doppelvangas are delicious to a wide variety of carnivorous creatures like Erklings, Graphorns, and Quintapeds.”

Rhiannon understood the situation but decided to stay in her spot regardless.

“So,” Moody continued, “to stay out of trouble, the Doppelvanga uses mimicry. It can imitate just about anything in only a few moments of being in its presence. A very prized bit of evolution, that is there. The problem is that when the bird is exposed to its own reflection, its true cry can be heard. Most magical carnivores are able to recognise the tune as a dinner bell!”

“That’s fascinating,” Rhiannon said.

The small lesson on the Doppelvanga was reminiscent of Professor Lupin’s classes. Moody put the bird back into the cage, which started making five-syllable calls that sounded like Rhiannon’s tones. It was very amusing.

“This was going to be tomorrow’s lesson,” Moody stated, “but with the Last Task coming and only three classes left, I knew that no one would pay attention. Instead, we’ll start reviewing for your end-of-year exam since I’m feeling so generous. It’s on Friday, you know.”

Every time the remainder of the exams were mentioned, Rhiannon felt a wave of dread.

_At least_, she thought after turning in her exam on Friday, _that the Astronomy exam this evening won_’_t have those awful critical thinking questions_. Moody was marking the tests rather quickly, and in hardly any time, he had finished Rhiannon’s. She had received a low B; the horror that that mark would have been to certain other students was a pleasant surprise for her.

Moody was profoundly distant from his usual routine of sorting papers that day. He leaned far back in his chair as though he wished it were a recliner, yet did not bother to Transfigure it. He was incredibly edgy –– no, twitchy, and refilled his hip flask three times in those mere two hours. He looked so unwell that Rhiannon gently encouraged him to ease up from drinking.

“No, no, the drink is supposed to help,” he shrugged her off.

Rhiannon was thinking about how wonderful it was that exams were finished and was planning different ways that she could waste the time during the last week of school when Moody spoke up.

“What’s your father’s name, Rhiannon?”

Taken remotely aback, Rhiannon answered, “Geoffrey.”

“Clarke?”

“Yeah.”

“Scared of your magic, is he? Tried to kill you with a gun?”

“Well, yeah,” Rhiannon said tensely, “He thought it was devil’s work if he was sober enough to have an opinion.”

“Your mother’s the same? What’s your mother’s name?” he enquired.

“Jessica Limmen,” Rhiannon answered plainly. Perhaps if more people knew of her domestic situation, she might be able to get a summer residence at Hogwarts like some of the teachers had.

“Those swine,” Moody kept mumbling, “those _swine_.”

Rhiannon would have hand-picked that word herself for her parents as well.

“Who do you think will win the Triwizard Tournament?” she asked in an attempt to take Moody’s mind off of any bad memories he might have been having of his own father.

“That,” he said, “I’m afraid I don’t know about that.”

Rhiannon was doodling graffiti on a sheet of parchment that had a pumpkin juice stain when detention time ended. On her way out of the classroom, Moody smacked his fist against the desk and requested erratically, “Constant vigilance, Rhiannon, you hear?”

“Certainly, sir,” Rhiannon called back. “Hey, erm, thank you. I feel better.”

“Oh, don’t thank me, Rhiannon,” Moody huffed. “Go on, now. You’re free.”

Undeniably, there was something iffy in the old man’s drink.


	12. Death Toll

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each chapter will come with a musical rec, and my [playlist (link)](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLkbEwOpb9udL8NQSwPCtzW_HAw_KqsKFy) will update along with the chapters.
> 
> Chapter Twelve - "Quiet as a Mouse" by Margot and the Nuclear So & So's

The morning of the last Task of the Triwizard Tournament had arrived. Astoria had just picked up a slice of toast when Draco Malfoy tossed a newspaper at her. Astoria didn’t make reading it a priority. She would finish her breakfast before she started with Malfoy. It was the right decision; soon enough he jumped up from his seat and was shouting at the Gryffindor table, Harry Potter in particular. Many other students started laughing, all seemingly interested in a newspaper article. Draco was acting half his age, making dumb faces at the Gryffindors and having a grand time. He then turned to Astoria.

“Did you read it? Bet you won’t think Potter’s so great now,” he said.

Astoria slammed her fork down on the table, and picked up the newspaper. There was an article titled “Harry Potter: ‘Disturbed and Dangerous.’” After somehow making it through the whole thing, Astoria did not have the energy left. Draco was looking at her oddly.

“What’s your problem?” he asked. She ignored him.

Astoria did not have to know Harry Potter more than cursorily to know the article was full of lies. Within the article, it accused Harry of being unstable and dangerous. It said that he has an unnatural pain in his scar that could indicate brain damage. It said that he could speak Parseltongue, and it accused him of being involved with the Dark Arts. It practically blamed _him_ for the basilisk attacks on the students two years ago, which Astoria had just learnt about. It said that he made friends with ‘vicious creatures’ like half-giants and werewolves. And worst of it all, the person behind these wrongful accusations was sitting right next to Astoria. It wasn’t that anything in this article affected Astoria, but Rhiannon would be at breakfast in any minute. The accusation that Harry had incited the basilisk was more than libel. Astoria didn’t want to see her friend fall apart again.

“Not amused, hm, Greengrass? Figures. Did you see the other article?” Draco asked.

“Other article, Malfoy? Look at what you put in _this_ one,” she snarled at him, throwing the paper in his food.

Her section of the table was looking at her. They had all taken delight in having a scapegoat for the basilisk that had attacked Muggle-borns –– which came from _their_ founder and crawled up from under _their_ dungeons.

“People could have died, and you all think this is funny!” Astoria yelled at the group. “Learn what that says about yourselves –– and yes, Imogen, I am _that mud pie girl_, thank you.”

Astoria ran from the Great Hall before any professor could get to her. She saw Rhiannon on the way and tried to stop her.

“Don’t go up there,” Astoria said.

“Why not?”

“You won’t like what you find. Draco’s put an awful interview in the paper.”

Rhiannon continued walking anyway.

“I’m serious, Rhiannon!”

“I’m seriously hungry! What do I care what Malfoy does, anyway?”

Astoria went back to the common room, hoping that people wouldn’t throw comments at Rhiannon about the basilisk now that it was fresh in their minds. Yet for some strange reason, Rhiannon was smiling giddily after breakfast.

“Fifteen points from Slytherin. I can’t go see the last Task tonight,” she said lightly. “Good thing I’m already in detention with Moody, or I’d be stuck with Snape.”

Astoria couldn’t figure out why Rhiannon was so contented about that, or why she was still having detentions.

“I thought he wasn’t really giving you anything to do… isn’t that the part you didn’t like?”

“Still better than Snape.”

“Well… wait, what did you _do_?” Astoria asked.

“What did I do?” Rhiannon asked, looking round the common room for an answer in what Astoria thought was sarcasm. “What _did_ I do?”

“Really, Rhiannon, how did you get in trouble? Why can’t you go see the last Task” Astoria asked impatiently.

“I think I did something to Malfoy! I mean, I hope it was to Malfoy, y’know?” Rhiannon said with a hearty laugh.

Astoria was bewildered.

“She splashed pumpkin juice on my clothes, that’s what!” Draco shouted as he entered the room. His shirt collar was tinged burnt-orange, and if anyone knew it was a brand one didn’t want stains on, it was Astoria.

“Oh, right, I splashed pumpkin juice on him,” Rhiannon grinned.

“After what I did for you…” Draco hissed as he tossed the same newspaper to Astoria again. “Would you just go to the next page already? Not you, Clarke –– get away from me –– _Astoria_.”

Astoria took the newspaper as Rhiannon looked on. There, right after the article about Harry, was an article about Pariah.

> NEW ROCK BAND TO RELEASE ALBUM NEXT MONTH
> 
> Four ambitious Hogwarts girls have decided to take their musical abilities to the next level, _writes Rita Skeeter_,_ Special Correspondent_. Astoria Greengrass, Hestia and Flora Carrow, and Rhiannon Clarke, four Slytherin third-years, have recently been signed to the In.fine.it. record label under the band name Pariah. This label holds the names of famed bands such as The Weird Sisters and Spellbound, so these girls are under serious pressure.
> 
> “I think they’re realising what hard work it is,” says Tracey Davis, fellow student and daughter of the popular producer John Davis. “But I know they’ll pull through, and they have great material!”
> 
> John Davis is the producer for Pariah, and revealed that the first album will be released next month.
> 
> “It started when my daughter asked me to have a listen to her friend’s band. Something that started as a one-time visit ended up getting these girls under contract. When I heard their demos, I knew they had something going for them. They’re composers at heart, and I think that’s what makes the difference when you’re that age and trying to get your feelings into music.”
> 
> Another special thing, though, is the band’s use of a Muggle guitar. Pariah manager Leonard Mongaby said that he tried to convince the guitarist, Rhiannon Clarke, to get a normal guitar. She preferred to use the Muggle one because she had always used it, and she was very inflexible. “Those girls know what they want,” he said.
> 
> Only a small number of outsiders have heard the girls play so far. All four girls are enrolled in Music as an extra-curricular class at Hogwarts School. They have performed some songs to the other students there. Draco Malfoy, a fourth-year, said that he has heard them play, but only without vocals. “The guitar is odd,” he admits, “but you can still recognise it’s good music.”
> 
> The use of a Muggle electric guitar should prove to be agreeable, as other bands had previously used them before the introduction of our own Wizarding effects guitar. If the band does have to resort to giving up the guitar, it will make little change to the girls’ determination to succeed. The first album’s release date will be announced shortly, and it will be available at Dominic Maestro’s in Hogsmeade and various shops in Diagon Alley.

Astoria was speechless. Draco was waiting on edge for a “thank you” because that was the kind of person he was. He was the kind of person to do something terrible and uncalled for and see nothing wrong with it; he was the kind of person to do something nice every once in a while and expect praise. He was the kind of person who sat right behind Astoria in her favourite class for the sole purpose of annoying her.

“Thank you for saying that you can appreciate our Muggle guitar, Draco,” Astoria said. “I have it in print now.”

“Don’t take it the wrong way,” he said, glowering at Rhiannon. She grinned back, happy as could be.

“I was the one who recommended that Skeeter write an article about you,” Draco boasted. “Not you,” he said to Rhiannon, his detestation growing at the same rate as her smiling.

“That was taking a chance,” Astoria countered. “Usually her articles are appalling.”

“No, Skeeter likes me. Anything I say, she goes along with,” he said.

“Astoria’s right, that was still risky,” Rhiannon said.

“Clarke, I’ve had it twice over with you!” Draco shouted. “Leave me alone!”

Rhiannon stormed off to show the twins the article. Draco sat down on an uncomfortable leather couch.

“You know, Clarke’s not the only one who owes me an apology,” he said. “I had to get another plate sent up after you put the paper in my food. Goyle had touched that paper with his grubby fingers –– I had to be safe.”

“I’m not exactly sorry, since this wasn’t the only article you inspired,” Astoria said.

Draco played the pity card by fussing with his stained shirt. Astoria knew that feeling; once Daphne had utterly destroyed a dress of Astoria’s by spilling pumpkin juice on it.

“Well, you could at least _say_ you’re sorry. I hear you’re good at lying, Greengrass.”

“Who said that?”

“Pansy.”

“Pansy can go get hit with a Silencing Charm and a splash of pumpkin juice.”

“No, no. You owe me an apology. As you would say, ‘_You_ wouldn’t want a newspaper in _your_ food, Draco Malfoy.’”

“Draco, all I can say is I appreciate you getting us in the paper. You didn’t have to do that, and I’m honestly surprised you painted us in a positive light. So thank you. Now if you turn round and bully us or say it was all a prank, I…”

Astoria trailed off.

_I would be so disappointed_.

“Looking forward to hearing you tidy the rest of them up, Greengrass,” he said, rolling his eyes at Rhiannon and the twins.

He left her company to go do whatever it was he had to do to be problematic enough for the day.

~

Dinner was replaced with a large feast in the evening. Astoria stayed at the Slytherin table because Philippe was there.

“Are you happy this is the last Task?” he asked.

“Very,” said Astoria.

She didn’t even want to go, after what happened at the last one. The year was so close to being over. So many things had been centred on this Tournament, and Astoria finally felt the impact of Philippe having somewhere else to be. Somewhere miles and miles away.

“Well, actually, no. The Tournament was the reason I met you,” she said.

Philippe smiled, “I have a feeling we might have met anyway. Somehow… through Zéphir.”

Astoria had no way to cool her face’s flush. Did Philippe really believe that… that they were _meant_ to know each other? It was a beautiful feeling, and she and Philippe cracked inside jokes in each other’s ear throughout the feast. After the meal, Professor Dumbledore instructed the students to go to the Quidditch pitch. Rhiannon got up to go back to the dungeons. As much as Astoria was relishing in Philippe’s light cologne and curly hair, she didn’t feel like risking making a fool of herself again at the Tournament itself. She and Philippe had a little bit of time left during the last few days of school, after all… Maybe she could tell him she wanted to keep it this way… But for now, she stuck with her gut.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to go. It’s getting dark, and we all know what happened at the last one,” Astoria said.

Philippe looked slightly disappointed. “Oh, okay.”

“I’m sorry. I just don’t want to pass out in the dark, or make stupid commentary and ruin it for everyone,” she laughed at herself.

“That’s fine,” Philippe said with a reassuring smile.

He walked outside with Zéphir and Zéphir’s paparazzi. Astoria went back to the dungeons. It felt like they had set aside their differences about this band. Rhiannon talked about what should go on the album cover. Astoria said that pictures of the bandmates as children might keep along with the themes they touched on. Rhiannon was thinking more along the lines of drawing Draco with an egg-shaped head.

“If we have pictures of us as kids, mine’ll be the only picture that doesn’t move… Oh well, maybe that’ll make another point. I do love making points, Astoria.”

“I know you do,” she smiled.

They must have spent two hours just laughing and talking, but the time seemed to have passed quickly. From their dormitory, Astoria and Rhiannon heard a sudden increase in the noise level of the common room and decided to walk down. All of the Slytherins were back from the event, and something was horribly wrong. There were many girls crying and several boys pretending not to. Anyone who wasn’t silent was talking nonstop. A lot of people were hugging, and Astoria knew. Someone had been badly hurt in the Task. Maybe even worse. She saw that even Blaise Zabini looked stunned, and her stomach lurched. Then Flora and Hestia staggered over to the girls, Flora practically carrying her weeping sister.

“What on earth’s happened?” Rhiannon demanded.

“Cedric Diggory… he died,” Flora announced with great struggle. “He died during it.”

Astoria felt compelled to move, to speak, but nothing she did would mean anything. The fact that she had had a bad feeling about the Tournament all along somehow made it more sickening.

“We don’t know how it happened,” Flora said, helping her sister sit down. “We couldn’t see inside the hedge maze in which the Champions were, but at the end, Harry came out of it really shaken. He was holding Cedric’s body by the arm. I couldn’t see what was going on after that, but everyone kept saying Cedric’s dead. People were screaming so loud. I mean, we really saw people taking his body away.”

“Horrible… horrible…” Hestia cried.

After nearly twenty minutes, Professor Snape entered the common room and stood at the top of the stone steps. He was shocked and out of breath; it showed in his speech.

“All of you are to go back to your dormitories. If anyone thinks that now is the time to cause trouble, you will be _expelled_,” he said quickly, then dashed out of the room.

Rhiannon had to shake Astoria to get her to stand up and walk. Astoria felt so much pain; her mind had been racing so fast that it had suddenly stopped thinking. Hestia and Rhiannon whispered for most of the night, whilst Flora tried to conceal the fact that she was crying herself to sleep. Astoria lay awake in bed for the whole night, watching the minute hand on her bedside clock move.

It was the middle of the night when Rhiannon shot out of bed like she had been attached to a spring. She did not know that Astoria was awake and was fumbling all over the room, mumbling absolute nonsense about “leaving the country.”

“Rhiannon,” Astoria tried to say without waking the twins, “Rhiannon?”

“Professor Sinistra…” Rhiannon said. “Professor Sinistra!”

“Rhiannon, we’re in the dormitory. Be quiet. What are you talking about? You’re sleepwalking? _Rhiannon_.”

“Astoria? No one will hurt us, no one. Professor Sinistra!”

Astoria rolled out of bed and grabbed Rhiannon by the arms. Rhiannon clung to the touch with one hand and put her other hand over her mouth tightly. She was in tears. This was neither the first nor the last time Astoria thought the girl had gone mad.

“Rhiannon, please, you’re making no sense. What is it?”

“Please don’t hurt me,” Rhiannon raved, spinning in circles out of Astoria’s arms and clutching her head. “I’m always in effing pain…”

Astoria lit her wand and shone it right in Rhiannon’s crazed face. Her eyes had genuinely rolled back. Astoria stepped back in distaste and fright, and watched Rhiannon’s eyes roll forward to focus on the light and spilled into tears.

“I… can’t… it’s like fog…”

“What in the world are you talking about, love?” Astoria asked gently, holding Rhiannon gently at the shoulder once more.

Rhiannon shook her head and mirrored Astoria’s action, touching her shoulder. She shook her head again, and Astoria quickly had to support her as she slumped. Astoria could barely manoeuvre her and shimmied her back to the bed.

“I was dreaming. I musta been dreaming. Sorry,” Rhiannon said. “I feel awful.”

Rhiannon studied the room like there was something new about it, grabbed her head again, and looked at Astoria for an answer. Astoria sat next to her. Hestia was still asleep, but Flora had rolled over and was simply trying not to get involved.

“It was like you were sleepwalking during a nightmare?” Astoria guessed.

“I feel like… Well, I don’t know. I don’t feel good. You shouldn’t turn a telly off by unplugging it, right? You should use the buttons. I feel unplugged. Whiplash or something.”

“Rhiannon, I’ve have no idea what you’ve been talking about for the past five minutes. I’m only being honest. I think you need some sleep.”

It took more rambling before Rhiannon started making sense again and felt a bit better. She finally went to sleep, unlike Astoria. Astoria tried to put Rhiannon’s outburst from her mind, but there was something terrible bubbling in her own head. It was more than a headache from sleep-deprivation; it felt more like Astoria had taken a potion she shouldn’t have. Even though she was lying still in a quiet, dark, room, she felt like she was looking at herself from above the bed. She could see all of her messy, tired features, but she couldn’t feel her fingertips. Her thoughts jumbled, and she thought she was somewhere in Hogsmeade. There was a tall, turreted house with a burnt out candle, and Astoria couldn’t make her body get there. This was not the first time she had seen herself from the outside, either. She had once seen her own body… and yet it hadn’t been her…

Astoria felt like the room wasn’t real. It was all an illusion, and it started dripping away like rain on a windowpane. Astoria didn’t want to leave, though, and she slammed her eyes shut. She could hear Rhiannon snoring. That meant whatever had bothered Rhiannon had passed her over, and it could pass over Astoria, too. Astoria came back to reality.

“Rhiannon, I think I saw something,” she gasped, but when she saw that Rhiannon’s sleep was undisturbed, she didn’t try to wake her again.

There was very little said the next two mornings and no official statement on Cedric Diggory’s death. It was like no one knew how he had died during the Task. The Headmaster, one of the few people still showing up at the staff table, arrived at breakfast a half an hour late on Monday and made an announcement that caused more turmoil. He did not give details. Astoria wasn’t sure if it was better that way or not.

“Defence Against the Dark Arts will not meet this last week. We have found that Alastor Moody has sustained a good deal of trauma.”

Professor Dumbledore then requested that no student bother Harry Potter, since he had obviously gone through great trauma as well. Many kids stirred in their seats with the events of the Third Task still fresh in their minds. Astoria shuddered. She had no idea what was happening beyond her breakfast table. Rhiannon’s own distraught expression was making it worse.

“You’ve heard about everything from the Task?” Philippe asked, approaching the Slytherin table.

Astoria nodded. He took a seat next to her and remained there. After he recounted what he had seen, which was not any more informed than Flora and Hestia’s account, both were in silence. Yet Philippe’s company made Astoria feel so much better, at least as much as it could.


	13. The Broken Mask

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhiannon finds out that not only is Voldemort alive, but he sent someone to her school that she had grown quite fond of. Astoria and Rhiannon are seeing the war unfold from a completely different angle than Harry and his friends.
> 
> "You don't have a soul. You _are_ a soul. You have a body." - _Anonymous_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each chapter will come with a musical rec, and my [playlist (link)](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLkbEwOpb9udL8NQSwPCtzW_HAw_KqsKFy) will update along with the chapters.
> 
> Chapter Thirteen - "Stars" by Hum

It had become such a habit to go to the D.A.D.A. classroom at the end of the school day that Rhiannon found herself meandering toward there even after Dumbledore’s announcement that morning. The whole corridor was dark and free of students, and the noise of the breezes coming in from the cracks in the ancient stone walls made Rhiannon edgy. As she made her way into the room, she saw something that made her feel worse. There were two piles.

One had the Foe-Glass, now opaque with smoke and cracked severely in the left-hand corner; a few shards of it lay on the floor. There were many books on this side, piles aligned carefully and bound together with string. A picture frame lay face down on top of a double pile of well-worn cassette tapes. There was a cloth bag left untied and pushed down at the top that Rhiannon examined. It contained a comb, stubby concert tickets, and a gold ring.

The other mixture of items had a huge trunk. Sitting atop it was a roll of parchment. It looked like an inventorial list. Rhiannon started feeling queasy. There was a rolling clothes rack holding up many garments with too thick of fabric for the season. It had a familiar, tattered trench coat, hollow of its owner. A smaller stack of books, a larger heap of parchment rolls, a Sneakoscope, a broomstick, and several groups of what seemed to be old television antennae were in this pile. Three unmatched right-footed shoes lay beneath the clothes rack.

_How badly was Moody hurt_…?

Rhiannon jumped when she saw a witch in dark robes come out of the office on the other side of the room and quickly take vicious aim with a long wand.

“Leave me al–– Oh, Heavens!” she gasped, lowering the wand. “I’m so sorry, Rhiannon, so sorry –– I did not know it was you, so sorry…”

It was Professor Sinistra. Rhiannon was quite tempted to ask her who the unlucky guest _might_ have been, but she changed her mind. Sinistra lurched toward Rhiannon with a heavy basket in her arm, leaving an intermittent trail of dried mud on the floor as it crumbled off her boots. With great purpose, Sinistra began to divide the basket’s contents between the two piles of paraphernalia. A large went belt to the right, gold cuff links to the left, a few bottles of ink revealers to the right, a folded telescope to the left. An old hat to the right, an even older hat to the right, a cheap pocket watch to the right, an expensive pocket watch and three neckties to the left, and a small, black book right into Professor Sinistra’s robe pocket. The professor then drifted back into the office and into the teacher’s quarters as though she had forgotten Rhiannon was there. Rhiannon drew near to the ominous inventory list and discovered that it only included items in the right pile. Cautiously, Rhiannon poked her head into the office. There was a small stone staircase that went up to Moody’s room. One by one, personal items were floating out of the room and back to the piles in the classroom. Rhiannon stepped out of the way of a pair of greyed old-man socks.

“_Depulso_!” Sinistra screamed.

All at once, the image of a silvery face flung past Rhiannon. There was a loud _crack_ as the object hit the stone wall out in the classroom and fractured into four pieces. It was a mask, elaborately engraved. Professor Sinistra again looked like she was not expecting Rhiannon to be right there. She came down the stair, took one more look at the office, and walked out. Rhiannon followed. Sinistra stood between the piles of belongings, staring at nothing in particular.

“Professor?”

Sinistra was in a daze. She drifted to the cage with the Doppelvanga, which started calling out in low wails. She stared at the bird for a moment, shook her head rapidly in disorientation, and brought it to the left pile. She cooed at the bird until the wail changed to mimic her.

“Professor Sinistra?” Rhiannon asked more nervously. “Erm, Professor Dumbledore said… er, is Professor Moody in the hospital wing?”

“Professor Moody…”

Sinistra’s eyes stared vacantly from under her pointed hat. Rhiannon wasn’t sure if she wanted an answer then; her palms were clammy and her optimism was failing.

“Yes, he is in, er, hospital wing.”

“Err… how is he?”

“Moody will recover well.”

“Ahh!”

Rhiannon had a large weight lifted from the top of her head. She turned to start the journey toward the hospital to wish him well.

“Goodness, Rhiannon, don’t go!” Sinistra cried out desperately and suddenly, shocking Rhiannon. “The man does not know who you are!”

“Wh––?”

Professor Sinistra wrapped a weak arm round Rhiannon’s shoulder and led her to a seat.

“What’s wrong?” Rhiannon demanded as Sinistra shut the classroom door with the wave of her wand. “What’s happened to him?”

Sinistra struggled, bringing a hand to her face to wipe off tears that were all too ready to form. This little show of hers wasn’t answering the question, but Rhiannon used all of her will to hold back from shouting at the professor out of grief.

“W-Was he hit with a Memory Charm?” Rhiannon tried to ask steadily.

“No, no… oh, Rhiannon, do you, would you happen to know what a Polyjuice Potion is? Do you know what that is, dear?”

Rhiannon recollected that Hestia had spoken about the potion once in passing when she was researching Fluxweed. The Polyjuice Potion was used to transform the drinker into someone else for a period of time.

“Yeah,” Rhiannon winced, feeling the need to lie down to take the news that was coming to her.

“Rhiannon, you must not tell anyone of this or they’ll bring you into court,” said the professor with a look of horror on her face. “The press can’t find out –– the Ministry’s got control of everything. I’ll lose my job. They’re trying to cover this up…”

“I won’t tell anybody,” Rhiannon promised.

“You deserve to know, you really do,” Sinistra muttered to herself.

Professor Sinistra was usually such a quiet woman, and Rhiannon felt uncomfortable standing in the storm of her emotion. Professor Sinistra’s entire demeanour had changed from the day Rhiannon took her Astronomy exam without incident.

“There was –– I mean to say that –– Alastor Moody never taught here, you see, Rhiannon? He was –– he ––” it seemed that Sinistra’s teeth were chopping her sentences as they tried to leave her mouth. “Someone, he, at the beginning of the year, he took a Polyjuice Potion to infiltrate Hogwarts, to pose as Alastor Moody.”

Rhiannon felt a few “_what_’s” escape her throat before finally consciously demanding a “Why?” Those tears she hated were coming back; she was so upset. Her conception –– everyone’s conception –– of Professor Moody was false. Rhiannon _saw_ Moody, she _heard_ Moody, _she_ _talked about her blasted parents with Moody_! Who was she speaking to? Who was it that now knew Rhiannon better than her own friends? She faltered severely and let herself cry. Professor Sinistra buried her head in her hands.

“‘Why,’ you ask?” she said quietly. “Why did he do it?”

Rhiannon watched as Professor Sinistra totally lost her poise. She spent several moments shaking, in that hunched position, as if trying to work the situation into words.

“Because Voldemort wanted him to,” she said tightly.

Rhiannon first felt uncomfortable at the mention of the Dark wizard’s name, but the feeling was replaced with the highest terror she had felt since she was almost killed by the basilisk.

“You mea–– there was a Death Eater? In the castle? All year? You mean I was talking with a _Death Eater_ all this time‽”

Rhiannon’s mind was turning so quickly that it felt like her words were coming faster than her thoughts… she started shouting at the crumbling Professor Sinistra.

“You mean –– no, I’m, I’m a Muggle-born, no –– _there_’_s a Death Eater out to kill me_‽ A disguised Death Eater in the castle who could have killed me any old day, because… because I’m just walking right up to him and –– and talking about _Quidditch_! _God Almighty_,_ how did this happen_‽”

“Rhiannon, stop,” Sinistra begged.

“What is this bloody school? Just the place we all bring in things to –– to _kill_ Rhiannon Clarke‽ GET ME OUT OF HERE!”

“Rhiannon, please stop!”

“Where’s the Death Eater? WHERE _IS _HE‽”

Sinistra was bawling so profoundly… Sinistra never would act this way… Sinistra would not know where to lead Rhiannon to her seat… _No_,_ could it be_?

“_You_! You’re the Death Eater, with, with yet another Polyjuice potion!”

Rhiannon took out her wand, about to Stun the witch in front of her, but the other managed to Disarm Rhiannon without even using a wand and followed with a Silencing Charm. The feeling of imminent death was one that Rhiannon had become familiar with, but it was the worst feeling that could ever be perceived each and every time.

“He’s gone, Rhiannon. He’s all gone.”

Sinistra wilted, sinking into a child-sized desk. Rhiannon could not speak no matter how much force she used in her throat. Trying to come to her senses, Rhiannon retrieved her wand although she knew she was poor with nonverbal magic. Yet Sinistra did not bother to pick hers up; apparently, she had trained in wandless and nonverbal magic. Perhaps Rhiannon had had an unreasonable fit, but Sinistra had never looked so frightening before the moment she cast those spells…

“See, Rhiannon, there are his things,” Sinistra waved her hand toward the left pile, then to the right, “and there are Moody’s, see? All sorted out, all done…”

Rhiannon glanced at the broken mask on the floor. Her reasoning was returning; that was the Death Eater’s mask. The real Moody was in the hospital recovering from being attacked or held captive or put to sleep or whatever had happened. Rhiannon sat back down in her seat, considering things once more. How many of Rhiannon’s conversations with the Death Eater were fake, just an impression of Alastor Moody? How many heart-to-hearts had she had with a Death Eater? Was it really true that if she walked into the hospital wing that Moody would not have the slightest idea of who she was? And yet there was some Death Eater who could probably write an essay about Rhiannon if he listened to anything she said…

Rhiannon wanted to apologise to Professor Sinistra but still lacked her voice.

“Shall I tell you what has happened?” Sinistra asked softly. “As I’ve said, it’s clear you… it’s clear, well, you deserve to know.”

Rhiannon nodded assent. Very slowly, very agonisingly, Professor Sinistra described:–

“In August, there, he, the Death Eater, Jo––, erm, Bartemius Crouch… of course, you know of Bartemius Crouch Senior. He was there at the beginning of the year. But yes… so this is his son, Bartemius Crouch Junior, who became one of… who became one of _those_ in 1980. And he got thrown into Azkaban by his own father in 1981 for a life sentence. They said that he partook in t-t––no, well, but… so he appeared to have died in prison in 1982, but he revealed he was alive just –– just this Saturday –– clearly… for he was there, wasn’t he? He was right here alive. He was alive all these years.”

Rhiannon was trying desperately to follow the professor’s account, but it was as though the woman did not believe what had happened herself and was making it rather confusing.

“He had faked his death because his mother wanted him out of there, of Azkaban, and as she was in critical condition anyway, Mrs Crouch and he switched appearances under the Polyjuice potion. And then J–– _Barty_._ Barty _escaped, and Mrs Crouch died shortly thereafter.

“But the old man, you know, who had always manipulated and abused him, was afraid to have a convicted Death Eater in his house, of course… so he put him under the Imperius Curse… I suppose that lasted a whole, a whole twelve years, of that. A whole twelve years of rotting his mind. And so the old man had him in the house, smothered under an Invisibility Cloak –– oh, that’s a sheet of fabric that makes one invisible, you see –– and, and, well, eventually, Barty Jr could hear again. Barty started fighting off the Imperius Curse, but he acted quite right so the old man would let him have the Sunday dinner, and then their house elf thought it’d be good to have him attend the Quidditch World Cup, which he’d, which he dreadfully wanted to see for years, j-just this August.

“But he was still Imperiused the whole time, and sort of, sort of magically bound to the little elf, but there was a riot of Death Eaters and, by chance, he had the magic Stunned out of him and he, he got away and decided to go. But he went right to V––, that Voldemort… like there was no second thought… and Voldemort wanted him to come to Hogwarts to, oh––”

Sinistra covered her eyes with her hands and started to cry more. Her concealing hand was hardly necessary with that shady old hat over her face.

“I mean, I swear to you, it had nothing to do with you. I think, I think Professor Dumbledore is going to make some statement at the End-of-Term feast, see…”

“The Death Eater came to kill Cedric Diggory, didn’t he?” Rhiannon asked, feeling her voice again. “What’d Cedric do? How’d You-Know-Who know about some regular school student?”

“Voldemort is alive, and he killed Cedric,” Sinistra wept, “Cedric didn’t do anything at all. Just, ruthless murder, it was… that wasn’t part of the plan. It was Harry. It was Harry Potter. Voldemort had this ridiculous, this elaborate plan to get Harry. And he was having... he was having Barty do it. Like it was amusing, how elaborate it was…”

“And,” Sinistra continued, “and in order to infiltrate Hogwarts to get Harry to Voldemort, Barty put Alastor Moody under the, _it_, the Imperius Curse, of course… so, he made the Polyjuice Potion and, and here he was –– right in Hogwarts he was –– right here always drinking that foul-smelling stuff. He was right here.”

“_My own father abandoned me_… _Can_’_t hurt me from the grave_,_ can he_?” the voice in disguise had said.

Rhiannon’s vivid memories of her detentions made her feel the need to interrupt the story.

“So, then, that was actually Crouch telling me about his father?” Rhiannon asked drearily upon reflection.

“Oh, Rhiannon, please,” Sinistra waved her hand.

“_You could use what you get from that album of yours to buy a broom_,” a Death Eater –– a _Death Eater _–– had advised Rhiannon jovially.

“Wait, no it was him really talking to me! And… it was Crouch talking to me about Quidditch and… music and such? That part wasn’t part of the act? That’s––”

Rhiannon didn’t know what that was. She was taking in so much confusing information without being ready for it.

“That’s not an impersonation at all, no,” Sinistra snivelled.

“_To stay out of trouble_, _the Doppelvanga uses mimicry_.”

The Death Eater was right under everyone’s noses all along… it was making Rhiannon ill.

“_The problem is that when the bird is exposed to its own kind_,_ its true cry can be heard_.”

Rhiannon cried into the collar of her robes. How pathetic she felt. The whole time, the whole entire time, she had been chummy with a member of an organisation that wanted to wipe out Muggle-borns. And yet…

“_Constant vigilance_,_ Rhiannon_,_ you hear_?”

And yet at the same time, her own ignorance helped her escape from the hell of her school and home life in the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom yet again.

“Why didn’t he just hand me over to You-Know-Who?” was the question burning Rhiannon’s brain.

Sinistra looked more appalled than Rhiannon thought she ought to have.

“Was it so he wouldn’t blow his cover too soon?” Rhiannon asked determinedly.

The professor was even more astonished at the second question. She leaned forward in the desk until it creaked.

“Because, Rhiannon,” Sinistra said, “you were an excuse for him to be himself again after twelve years of being his father’s puppet and one year of being Alastor Moody. You knew neither Barty Crouch Jr nor Alastor Moody, so you would not be able to tell if something was wrong. You weren’t so much a student in detention then as much as you were someone stopping in to talk, and that talking was his only chance to be himself under Voldemort’s thumb. Barty was completely deluded –– he thought he would be so revered by Voldemort that he could simply wave a finger and spare you. He was under many severe delusions of, of that sort… Rhiannon, he was very sick. He was so lost.”

Sinistra said this so surely that Rhiannon’s following question was about to be “How do you know?” But Sinistra spoke first.

“It started with you crying about your father in class, didn’t it?”

“I –– I guess, yeah. I don’t know, Professor. I feel pathetic.”

“Rhiannon, I understand what you’re asking. You talked about a lot with him. It wasn’t part of his Moody act. Take that to mean what you will. You’re not pathetic for wanting to know.”

“I mean, he was a Death Eater! It’s not like I’m relieved we had these talks… I guess I just didn’t want it to be fake… I guess I… I heard him talk about his dad, I guess.”

Rhiannon had never felt so ill at ease and emotionally moved at the same time until then.

“Rhiannon, you weren’t in any danger from Barty himself –– you were in danger of what he was choosing to do. And he chose Voldemort over everything else. It was praise-seeking, reckless, and desperate. He did not know what the Death Eaters were going to do, if they were going to raid the grounds on the night of the Third Task or not. He placed you under the Imperius Curse to make you splash pumpkin juice on Draco Malfoy because he knew Severus would take that privilege of going to the Task away from you. Rhiannon, really, he made no sense. He was always ten steps ahead and couldn’t ever see what was right in front of him,” Sinistra wept.

“Imperius Curse? To, wait, to keep me… safe? _What_? How do you know all of this? Er, how do you know _any_ of this?” Rhiannon finally blurted.

Sinistra pursed her lips, apparently formulating her words.

“He told me everything when he was captured.”

“You captured him?”

“No, Rhiannon, the Headmaster did. They gave him Veritaserum.”

“That’s when he told you everything?”

“Er, yes,” Sinistra said, rubbing her face.

“Oh…” Rhiannon said. “So he’s back in Azkaban, then?”

Time crawled as the professor stared out of the windows in silence. Rhiannon was preparing to repeat her question.

“Fudge, he…” Sinistra whispered.

“Fudge arrested him?”

Sinistra wrung her shaking hands and still did not move her eyes from the window.

“Fudge brought a dementor into,” Sinistra made a wild wave toward the office, “well, right in there, and––”

Rhiannon had a feeling that kept sinking further and further in a pool of dread at the sheer mention of dementors.

“It ate his soul,” Sinistra murmured, almost inaudibly.

Rhiannon did not believe it at first. If Crouch really was insane, wouldn’t he have been sent to a mental ward? If he wasn’t, he’d be back in Azkaban. Right? Even the _sound_ of Sinistra’s sentence did not compute in Rhiannon’s mind.

“His body’s been moved back to Azkaban, but… he’s all gone.”

Rhiannon and Professor Sinistra were both very quiet for such a long time that Rhiannon thought herself to be growing old. The room started to become stuffy from the afternoon humidity and could no longer serve as a place to contemplate.

“I am in charge of going through effects,” Sinistra said weakly, and stood weakly.

“_Reducio_,” she said at each of Crouch’s larger belongings before dropping them into a cloth bag and tying it.

“Professor Dumbledore said he would gather Mr Moody’s things,” she said, “but I have to stay here until he does. I have to stay here.”

The broken pieces of the mask and the Foe-Glass caught Sinistra’s attention, and she quickly enchanted a broom to sweep them up and a dustpan to dump them into the bin. When the professor’s back was turned to return the broom and dustpan to the little utility closet, Rhiannon reached into the bin, pulled out the largest shard from the Foe-Glass and a single piece of the mask, and slipped the items into her pocket.

“I’m sorry, Rhiannon. Please take care of yourself,” Professor Sinistra said.

“You too, Professor.”

“You can always talk to me, too.”

“Thank you, Professor,” Rhiannon said.

She wondered what an appropriate amount of pain was over this.

“Erm, you can… talk to me too.”

Professor Sinistra didn’t turn back around.


	14. Targeted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. I hope you liked it. Comments and kudos are always greatly appreciated. The next book in the series is available [here!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22608943/chapters/54033463)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each chapter will come with a musical rec, and my [playlist (link)](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLkbEwOpb9udL8NQSwPCtzW_HAw_KqsKFy) will update along with the chapters.
> 
> Chapter Fourteen - "Candy Corn" by Sponge

There were just four days of school left, and since exams were finished and D.A.D.A. was formally cancelled, all classes were pointless to attend apart from Professor Snape’s, in which the students were lectured about the next year. Professor Sinistra never made the students come to class after the exams were finished since the top of Astronomy Tower was so distant from everything, and for that Astoria was very grateful. She didn’t want to approach Professor Sinistra about the visions she had of speaking to her as a clone, and the weird feeling of slipping outside of herself on the night of Cedric’s death.

Astoria instead took evening walks outside with Philippe, which she greatly enjoyed as a relief from the tragedy. Yet Rhiannon didn’t recover. Instead of finding something to do that would take her mind off of Cedric’s death, everything Rhiannon did ended at its midpoint, when she would slip into grief. Astoria, Hestia, and Flora tried to give her open ears to listen and open shoulders to cry on, but after only the first attempt, it became clear that Rhiannon was not ready to talk. Astoria did not have the guts to tell Rhiannon that she, too, had disturbing visions on that night. She was too afraid of what it had meant.

On Wednesday, Rhiannon disappeared after Herbology. Hestia was immensely worried, and she and Astoria decided it would be wise to look for her. The castle was so immense that they were only going to look in the most likely places before telling the Headmaster. Astoria’s first destination was the second-floor girls’ lavatory, where Rhiannon had had a breakdown in May. Rhiannon wasn’t there. Even Myrtle the ghost wasn’t there. The sight of the broken mirror made Astoria search faster. She met Hestia in a corridor on the third floor. Hestia was going up to the music room on the fifth floor, whilst Astoria was going to search the rest of the third floor, and perhaps even ask Madam Pince if Rhiannon had come into the library. Astoria glanced into every room along her way. She was mildly shocked when she sighted the Bloody Baron, floating in backward somersaults dejectedly in one of the empty rooms.

“Who’s there?” he gasped, but did not look around.

“Er, Astoria Greengrass, Sir.”

“Be on your way, girl,” he shooed with a slow arm, lying in the air and facing the ceiling.

“Erm, excuse me, have you seen Rhiannon Clarke anywhere?”

The Baron twisted round to face her, and she avoided looking at his blood-stained cloak. He started howling for no decent reason at all, but Astoria stood firmly in place and waited for an answer.

“Yes,” he rasped, “yes, I have seen Rhiannon Clarke but a few moments ago…”

“Would you tell me where she is, please?”

“If she has not moved,” he said thoughtfully, “then she must still be in the classroom in which Defence Against the Dark Arts is taught.”

“Thank you, Your Lordship.”

“Certainly, certainly.”

Rhiannon was sitting at the front of the room with her back to the door. Relieved that she had found her, Astoria took a moment to try to figure out what her friend was doing. Nothing. Rhiannon was still.

“Rhiannon?” Astoria called fretfully.

Rhiannon turned and said hello to Astoria in an exceedingly casual manner that did not seem appropriate after all of the fear she had caused her roommates. Astoria made her way to Rhiannon and touched her friend’s shoulder in an attempt to bring her back to Earth. Rhiannon did not lose the preoccupied look and put her hand over Astoria’s as if trying to see if she was truly present.

“What’s the matter with you?” Rhiannon asked concernedly. Astoria was baffled. That was what she should have been asking Rhiannon.

“Hestia and I have been looking everywhere for you!”

Rhiannon looked puzzled. She was starting to make Astoria annoyed.

“What for? You two know I still have like, over an hour of detention, right?”

Astoria felt her mouth open. Not for a minute did she think that Rhiannon was playing a prank on her, what with her recent behaviour, it seemed as though Rhiannon needed to go to the Hospital Wing for a good, long lie-down and perhaps something a bit heavier than a Calming Draught. Astoria started to speak in a way that made her feel like she was addressing a child and feared that it would insult Rhiannon. Yet speaking to her regularly very well could have made Rhiannon further emotionally stressed.

“Rhiannon, we don’t have to show up for the last D.A.D.A. classes, and you don’t have to show up for detention any longer, okay? Remember, Headmaster Dumbledore said that Professor Moody has gone to the Hospital Wing to get better. So that is where he is now, so I am certain that he would not want you to come here and be inconvenienced when he isn’t even here, right? Let’s go find Hestia, shall we?”

“I’ve nowhere else to be,” Rhiannon uttered softly. “I don’t belong anywhere.”

Neither her words nor her expression were reassuring. She was watching the closed door in the back of the room. Astoria sat next to Rhiannon carefully.

“Why, we could go for a walk outside. The weather is lovely. Or we could go to the library; it’s just down the hall. We could even head back to the common room, if you like. Or you could play your guitar back in the dormitory, or we could have some tea, or––”

“But I have detention, Astoria. You know that.”

Astoria felt intimidated by Rhiannon’s behaviour. This was far out of her reach.

“A-All right, then. See you later,” Astoria said and left the room to seek the nearest help.

She scurried to the library and had to move out of the way of the door when it swung open. It was Hestia.

“I lost _you_, too!” Hestia cried. “Have you found her? I couldn’t find her anywhere!”

“Yes, I’ve found her. She’s in the D.A.D.A. room.”

Hestia made a forceful step to get past Astoria, but Astoria grabbed her by the robe.

“Wait, Hestia, we need to get a teacher first.”

“_WHAT_‽ What for? What’s happened‽” Hestia shouted frantically.

“Nothing! She’s just… oh, I don’t know, in denial from the shock lately or something. She’s really having trouble reacting, and I want a teacher to help her, all right? Going there right now won’t do her any good.”

Hestia was entirely unconvinced, but Astoria moved her grip to Hestia’s shoulders and continually repeated, “Going there right now will not do her any good. We need a teacher,” until she had led the girl back into the library.

Madam Pince lifted her eyes irritably at the girls and returned them to a book she was reading.

“Madam Pince, there is a problem––” Hestia flinched at Astoria’s choice of words –– “with a student. She is in classroom 3C just down the hall, and I believe we need a teacher.”

“What ever is wrong?” Madam Pince asked sincerely.

“I think she’s shocked. She can’t reason properly... her behaviour is very concerning and I’m worried about her. She thinks she has to report to Professor Moody for detention.”

Just as Madam Pince stood, Professor Sinistra rushed past the library.

“I’ve got this, Madam,” she called in as the very edge of her robes fluttered against the door. Madam Pince was as surprised as the two girls and walked them over to the door.

“Well, let me know if you need any help. I can leave the library unattended for a few minutes without the whole castle falling.”

“Thank you, Madam,” said Astoria.

The two girls hurried to follow Professor Sinistra, whose black robes swished along the floor into the classroom. To their shock, Rhiannon had already fallen into the Professor’s arms and was wailing.

“Rhiannon, did you get hurt‽” Hestia cried, entirely uninformed of the situation.

Rhiannon did not answer and kept her head buried in Professor Sinistra’s shoulder.

“No, no,” the professor informed quietly. “She hasn’t been injured, Hestia. The poor girl’s mind’s exhausted. It hasn’t quite passed yet.”

Hestia was quivering, so Astoria stood closer to her. They both watched Rhiannon cry; Professor Sinistra brought a sleeve to her own face, too, then stroked Rhiannon’s hair.

“D-Does she need to go to the Hospital Wing?” Hestia questioned.

“No, no, that is the last place she needs to go,” the professor instantly answered.

“Shall we take her back to the dormitory?” Astoria offered.

“With _those_ kids in the common room?”

Professor Sinistra lifted an arm from Rhiannon’s back and motioned for the girls to sit down. The three waited a long time for Rhiannon to settle. They all made a late arrival at dinner, leaving the empty classroom with the rolling echoes of their footsteps.

~

On Thursday morning, Astoria woke to see Rhiannon writing a letter. Rhiannon stopped writing and looked up; Astoria had stared at her for too long.

“It’s to Professor Lupin,” Rhiannon said quietly. “He wrote to me throughout the year and asks how I’m doing sometimes. I gotta tell him I can’t write in the summer because I’ve got no owl.”

Astoria smiled. It was the first sign that Rhiannon was feeling better.

The Hogwarts Express was scheduled to come on the third of July, and Astoria had her three bags packed up again the night before.

“I heard old Mad-Eye’s out of the hospital wing,” Hestia told Rhiannon on their way to dinner.

“Good, he’s had quite a year,” Rhiannon exhaled.

Dinner that night would be extremely painful for Astoria. The Great Hall had many black drapes on its walls, and the Headmaster gave a speech about Cedric Diggory. It was very difficult for Astoria to dwell on Cedric, to dwell on death. When they stood and raised their goblets in respect to Cedric, Astoria found her hand shaking.

Professor Dumbledore at long last informed them of the circumstances of Cedric’s death –– he was murdered by Voledmort, the Dark wizard Astoria was told had died after killing Harry Potter’s parents. She didn’t know how that was possible and had to sit down before the other students did. They were all whispering nervously, but Rhiannon did not even blink at the mention of Voldemort’s name. The Headmaster soon explained that the Ministry was trying to conceal the truth that Voldemort had risen from the grave. Draco kept whispering about Professor Dumbledore’s insurgence against the Ministry to Crabbe and Goyle, but the latter two did not have the remotest grasp of politics and left him with no one to say his nonsense to.

The Headmaster continued his speech by describing that Harry Potter had escaped from You-Know-Who during what should have been the normal Third Task, and that Harry put himself in danger to return Cedric’s body to his family after he was killed. Professor Dumbledore raised his goblet at Harry. Astoria raised her goblet at Harry though a number of the students in her House did not, mostly those surrounding Draco. It was shameful to their House, so Astoria and Rhiannon subconsciously agreed to lift their goblets even higher along with the rest of the Houses. As the Headmaster spoke of the approaching dangers and threat that You-Know-Who and his Death Eaters posed, Astoria failed to listen. She had taken in enough this year. Her sheltered life at Quennell Park was drastically different from that at school; she felt like a changed person. She did not want to hear any more of evil wizards, Dark magic, Death Eaters, and slurs. She wanted to go home.

Yet saying goodbye to Philippe the next morning made her want the year to go on longer. The two did not say much upon departure; they couldn’t find much to say at all.

“I will write,” he said.

His tone made Astoria uncomfortable. He lived in Meuse. She lived in East Sussex. They would stay friends, but neither of them wanted only that. When he kissed her cheek, it was more than a gesture, and his touch lingered on her. Watching him leave with the other Beauxbatons left Astoria even quieter than she already was. She boarded the Hogwarts Express with Rhiannon. Both of the girls fell asleep in a nearly empty compartment on the ride back to London; neither had pleasant dreams. They were awakened not far from London when the train hit a bump larger than the ones it usually did. They stretched their sore arms and legs; Rhiannon was massaging her neck.

“I got a letter from Mr Davis this morning,” Rhiannon said. “The company chose “The Pariah,” “Useless,” and “Sweet Nothings” to be released as promotional singles. Our album’ll be released next week.”

Astoria felt so much better. “Sweet Nothings” was one of the songs for which she wrote the lyrics completely. She even wrote the music for the piano, which she played for most of the song. But she also knew that Rhiannon really did not want “Useless” as a single. The song was not what Rhiannon was trying to be with a band, yet there was nothing she could do about it.

“So,” Astoria said. “How are you getting back home?”

“Have to find a taxicab,” Rhiannon said. “I’m luckily not too far from the station.”

“That’s good. How will you, er, pay the driver?”

“I keep some Muggle money with me,” she said, putting her hand in her pocket to indicate it was there. “How do _you_ get home by the way? I know it’s a silly question, but I don’t know.”

“A lot of people use Floo powder. My dad and Daphne usually go to Diagon Alley, find a fireplace, and go home from there. It’s not a silly question if you’ve always gone home in an automobile, Rhiannon.”

Rhiannon smiled weakly. Within nine months, Rhiannon Clarke and Astoria Greengrass had become the best of friends. Each valued that friendship in a way that could not be put into words. Two completely different worlds separated them, and at the same time, brought them closer together.

“I’ll send you a copy of the album, Rhi,” said Astoria when the train stopped at King’s Cross Station.

“Oh, that’s right… I gotta make sure Jessica doesn’t find out about my Gringotts account, too,” Rhiannon said.

Rhiannon hugged Astoria goodbye a little too tightly and got off the train in a bit of a hurry. Astoria watched her head disappear in the crowd through the window. She was in no hurry to get off the train. Daphne was still waiting outside as the number of Hogwarts students slowly decreased. Astoria made her way to the next compartment to get out where Daphne was, and found something quite shocking. Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle were on the floor in the very next compartment, unconscious. Draco’s cheek and neck were covered in something that looked almost like actively burning charcoal. Crabbe had several circular marks on his face... wherever there weren’t little tentacles growing out of it. Goyle was face down. Astoria didn’t know what to do. Her father was not at the station yet; Daphne was still standing out there with her arms folded. Astoria nudged Goyle with her foot. He made an unflattering grunting sound, but that was nothing out of the ordinary.

“Are you awake, Greg? The train’s stopped.”

Goyle didn’t make another noise.

“Draco? Draco, it’s Astoria. I’m not picking you up off the floor.”

None of them moved. Astoria looked out the window again to see if any of the boys’ relatives were out there. Two very large men and a large woman were speaking with a man and a woman who were undoubtedly Draco’s parents. Astoria rushed to the front to tell the conductor that there were still people on the train. (She had almost stopped herself, thinking of how amusing it would be for the three to wake up in Hogsmeade hours later on an empty train, but pulled through). She then got off the train and approached the boys’ parents. There was a good chance they’d be just as horrible.

“Excuse me. Mrs Malfoy? Hello?” she said.

She walked up to the lady she believed to be Draco’s mother because she seemed the least threatening of all of them. The woman turned around. She had very dark eyes that were unnaturally warm for someone related to Draco. Her perfectly styled hair was two colours, silver-blonde and black. It looked like a genetic condition.

“Oh, hello,” said Mrs Malfoy, not even questioning how a random little girl might have known her. “Have you seen Draco? He’s usually out of here by now…”

“Yes, I saw him. I wanted to tell you, er…”

The rest of them were looking at her. Draco’s father looked tremendously like him, though his hair was rather long and he didn’t wear a stupid grin. Crabbe’s and Goyle’s fathers almost looked like brothers, and the other woman was nowhere near as pretty as Draco’s mother. Astoria didn’t know if she was Crabbe’s or Goyle’s mother; she didn’t look friendly regardless.

“I’m not quite sure what happened, but I was getting off the train and I found Draco, Vince, and Greg unconscious on the floor. I can show you where they are.”

Draco’s mother put her hand to her mouth and scurried to the train. The other lady joined her, followed by Astoria, who directed them to the compartment. Draco’s mother gasped at the sight of them, and went to pick Draco up. The other lady was extremely strong, and grabbed both Crabbe and Goyle by the arms and hoisted both of them in the air. Whilst Draco’s mother gently woke him, the other woman jostled the heavy boys around until they were awake. Astoria tried very hard not to giggle.

“Potter and his lot hexed us!” Draco griped, grabbing his neck before crying out and finding that the charcoal rash had spread to his hand. His mother tut-tutted and rubbed his arm.

“Get your trunk, Greg,” grumbled the scary woman, and Crabbe and Goyle got off the train without daring to whine.

Astoria picked up her three bags and got off the train, too, followed by Draco and his coddling mother. The train whistled and chugged, then started its journey back to Hogwarts. Astoria’s father had arrived, and Daphne was glued to his side looking impatient. Their father was speaking with Draco’s father, which even Daphne knew was a waste of breath.

“Oh, you’re Adam’s little girl, Astoria!” Draco’s mother chirped. “You didn’t tell me.”

“Yes…”

“How nice to see you, dear. Why, you’re so grown I couldn’t recognise you! I saw you when you couldn’t even hold your head up! I’m Narcissa, and that is my husband Lucius,” she said, lifting Astoria’s hand from her side and squeezing it.

“It’s nice to meet you, too, Mrs Malfoy…” Astoria managed to say, trying not to laugh.

Mrs Malfoy smiled, walked over to her husband, and started speaking with him and Astoria’s father. Draco remained still. Beneath the horrendous black marks on his face, he looked as though there was something forbearing on his mind.

“Astoria, come here,” he mumbled.

“What?”

“Listen, I don’t think it’s a good idea to be with the Mudbl–– Rhiannon next year…”

Astoria was instantly upset.

“I’m not changing so your mother still thinks I’m great, if that’s what you’re talking about.”

“No, Astoria, really. You heard what Dumbledore said, didn’t you?” He lowered his voice. “About the Dark Lord…”

“Yes, I heard,” Astoria said. She didn’t want to think about You-Know-Who. Leave it to Draco to ruin her plans of clearing her mind.

“I’m just saying. You’re putting yourself at risk. People like Clarke are going to be targets. You know that.”

Astoria was quiet.

“People like you are also going to be targets,” he whispered. “Hey, are you listening to me? Do you understand, Astoria? You associate with people like _her_.”

Being a target was better than being a fake. What did Draco expect, for her to desert Rhiannon? She did not want to think of the consequences of being a “Mudblood-lover,” but she knew that she would rather face those than leave her best friend. She had made up her mind to stay a so-called Mudblood-lover a long time ago.

“So I’m a target,” she said firmly. “My family’s been through this before. Daphne wasn’t even born here because of that You-Know-Who wizard.”

Draco didn’t have a comeback ready. He actually looked… sad? No, of course not. He just looked gloomy whenever he wasn’t bullying someone. It must have been more pronounced because of the burning charcoal on his face.

“You’ve met my son, Draco?” Mr Malfoy self-importantly said to Astoria’s father. Mr Malfoy shot Draco a short, commanding look.

“Fine time to meet your father, what with this stuff all over my face,” groused Draco bitterly.

Draco walked over to the adults. Astoria walked after him. She hugged her father; she had missed him so much.

“Nice to meet you, sir,” Draco said in a low voice.

Mr Malfoy looked utterly disgraced after seeing his son’s face up close. The man seemed to be even more scandalised by the fact that Astoria’s father acted as though nothing was startling about Draco at all. Astoria’s father gripped Draco’s clean hand and shook it. She saw Draco hold his fingers in pain after her father let go; this transferred more charcoal onto his once-intact hand.

“Pleasure,” her father said insipidly.

“Well,” said Mr Malfoy, shooing his son away with a quick hand motion behind his back, “I’m sorry to hear that I will no longer see you at the Ministry, Adam.”

“I am sorry to leave.”

“What?” Daphne and Astoria asked in unison.

“I’ve decided to resign from my job at the Ministry. I was expected to help with another department this year, and things became too hectic. What with Fudge running the place the way he does now, I’d rather stay at home.”

Astoria didn’t think much of it. It wasn’t like he needed the job.

“It’s been nice to finally see you again, Adam. Won’t you say hello to Estelle for me?” requested Mrs Malfoy, who was somewhat shielding Draco from additional scrutiny with her back.

“I will,” said her father. “Good afternoon, Narcissa, Lucius.”

He motioned for Astoria and Daphne to follow him. The Malfoys followed them through the wall out of Platform 9 ¾. Astoria forced herself to wave goodbye to Draco, who merely lifted a disfigured hand until his mother nudged his arm to make him hide his appearance.

“Did you hear the Headmaster’s announcement about what happened to that boy?” the girls’ father asked them.

“Yes,” they both said.

The world had changed so much for Astoria in only a year. There was a lingering disturbance from all of the things she had been through. She had seriously been considering going back to being home-schooled. All she had to do was ask, but there was something about seeing herself talk it over with Professor Sinistra in a vivid vision that was keeping her determined as ever. That vision might not have even been real, and it was horribly frightening to have seen her own body acting out her thoughts, but she felt she had to go back to Hogwarts the next year. She needed to be at Rhiannon’s side. She needed to prove Draco Malfoy wrong. In spite of how downhill the year had gone, Astoria smiled to herself, wondering if Draco knew that his negative comments pushed her to become an even better witch.

Well, Draco didn’t know anything.


End file.
